


Red Carnation

by reviloo, TheFartingRabbit



Series: Collabs with Writers [2]
Category: TSV - Fandom, TwoSet, Twosetviolin
Genre: AO3 Masterrace, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassin-au, Blood, Bottom!Eddy, Collab, Conditioning, Eventual Relationships, Gore, Humor, I am not kidding, Kissing, Knives, Love, M/M, MCD, Mafia AU, Manipulation, Mindbreak, Minor Character Death, Multilation, Oh yes, Porn with Feelings, READERS PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS, Rating: M, Retraining, Seriously kiddos STAY AWAY, Smut, Tags Are Fun, Tags May Change, Top!Brett, Torture, Well - Freeform, all about dat love baby, and kudos, because its godlike, blowjob, but it has also, crosspost from wattpad, does anyone read this?, for a reason guys, genuine love, i love you Vilo <3, its me, lots of feelings, of course, peeps with faint heart stay away, someone had to die obviously, tags will change oh yeah, thank you, wattpad sucks, well what have we else?, what did you expect?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reviloo/pseuds/reviloo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFartingRabbit/pseuds/TheFartingRabbit
Summary: Assassin-AuYes, I am back and I dragged an Innocent person in this as well. Meet RevilooThey are my newest victim to drag into a collab. Be nice to her and her stories as well, I love her very much :3Beta-ed by the most wonderful person: Embracingchloe (on insta) Thank you!!!+++He bent down one knee to aim his gun properly.He was one of the rare hitmen with 100% accuracy. His customer always got what they wanted. And they wanted him for his headshots. Clean, painless and it sent a clear message to the police as well. He could and would give them that. After all, the customer was king, right?, he thought with distaste. Especially with the wad of money they waved in front of his face.Through the scope he saw the man running, red in the face, paranoidly looking behind him. The dumb man should look above, the death always came from above. Heaven's verdict was called and it shall be delivered. Not that Brett believed he was doing god’s work or anything. He just liked to call it heaven's verdict. Because, damn, that sounded cool.Brett took the time to deeply breathe in and out, focusing on his task. Then he took a very careful aim and pulled the trigger.+++
Relationships: Brett Yang/Eddy Chen, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: Collabs with Writers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873582
Comments: 89
Kudos: 133





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, 
> 
> please check out my Co-Authors awesome fics as well: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reviloo/pseuds/reviloo/works  
> Thank you:3  
> (yes i will add they as yo-author as soon as they accept lol. AO3 is strange sometimes)
> 
> PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE A KUDO AND A COMMENT IF YOU LIKED IT!!!!!

**Chapter 1 Act 1  
**

  
  


The night was warm, warmer than he would ever thought it would get. Maybe that was because he had a black turtleneck on. Maybe that was because he was running on the street. Maybe that was because his heart was beating like crazy. And most definitely because his nerves were on fire when he saw shots in front of him.

The adrenaline rush got him and he smirked; he simply loved the pulsing of hormones through his veins. Everything came into focus, every breath was carefully breathed, his vision was sharper and his hearing was better as well. He was in full predator mode, and every second was pure bliss for the young man.

Brett Yang was a normal 25 year old young man in his prime of life; currently chasing his victim down. It was a poor bastard who cheated one time too often and this time on the wrong woman. A woman with power, money and knowledge. 

Brett ran up to a wall, gripped the rusty emergency exit ladder and dove up to get on higher ground as quickly as possible. His foot practically flew over the flat roof and came to a halt on the edge. He bent down one knee to aim his gun properly. His silencer was on his polished weapon with the riflescope on top. 

He was one of the rare hitmen with 100% accuracy. His customer always got what they wanted. And they wanted him for his headshots. Clean, painless and it sent a clear message to the police as well. He could and would give them that. After all, the customer was king, right?, he thought with distaste. Especially with the wad of money they waved in front of his face.

Through the scope he saw the man running, red in the face, paranoidly looking behind him. The hitman grinned. The dumb man should look above, the death always came from above. Heaven's verdict was called and it shall be delivered. Not that Brett believed he was doing god’s work or anything. He just liked to call it heaven's verdict. Because, damn, that sounded cool. 

Brett took the time to deeply breathe in and out, focusing on his task. Then he took a very careful aim and pulled the trigger.

Through the scope he could see the impact of the hit. The victim staggered until he fell head first on the dirty asphalt. By that time he was already dead; Brett knew that from experience. Another target down. Again, clean like the customer wanted it.

He put the firing safety back on and holstered the weapon. His slow descent was in absolute calm. Now was not the time to rush, not anymore. The hunt was over and his body seized production of adrenaline. Instead he needed to be calm, especially his mind to be calm and serene to be able to make the right decisions. He looked at his surroundings, confirming that gunshots in the middle of the night was not something out of the ordinary in this neighborhood. It was a rundown part of the city, a dirty part. An area where one could get a $50 whore with no restrictions or limits. Brett hated this part of the city, but he was here more often than not - and not because he craved the $50 whore. No, his targets did. More than once he had to endure their filthy play before ending his victim’s life. The ladies - sometimes boys - were always more than grateful. They took the victim's cash and went on their merry way, not bothered in the slightest. But now he could leave this district behind him, after he got to his dead target of course. He was certain that his prey was dead, but he always checked on them anyway. It was standard procedure for him. Better safe than sorry, that was his motto.

With long strides he made it in no time to his lifeless victim. He hated it when they begged and pleaded. It was disgusting and humiliating and therefore he preferred this method a lot. Not that he didn’t like cutting and extracting more than just simple information from his victims, but he hated their pathetic whining. On top of that Brett didn’t budge. Honor was honor and he would not turn on his employer once hired. It was against his own rules to do so. Of course _other_ hitmen did that, but not Brett, never Brett. His prices were higher than the usual standard, but the customers could sleep well at night knowing he wouldn’t change allegiance for money.

He took a photo of the bloody face and sent it to a throw-away number so the customer would know the job was done and the final payment could be transferred. The customer specified they didn’t want the corpse to be burned or anything and Brett was glad for it. Burnt hair was appalling, and it's disgusting smell clung to his skin. Another reason why he was very careful with handling corpses was the possibility of him leaving a print. One could never know what the inept police would find. Maybe a hair? For that he wore a beanie. Fingerprints? Never left any thanks to his wonderful leather gloves. Even the pool of blood was carefully avoided. It would be a shame to throw out his wonderful John Loob’s he had. Also leather did not like blood at all. 

The forehead was destroyed, and tiny shredded parts of the brain as well as blood were splattered onto the ground underneath Brett’s feet. Brett didn’t smile or laugh at that - this was just to make sure he got the victim good and he wasn’t alive because of some miracle. Well, not this dude and not today apparently. The haze of death slowly clouded his victim’s eyes. Yes, definitely dead.

The long trek back to his car was the part he _had_ to do and the one he hated the most. Once he finally reached his car, he readily got in, turned on his radio and drove off.

The sun started rising on the horizon, and Brett gave a smirk when he heard the ping of his phone. His day was long and arduous, but the notification he had just received made everything worth the effort. His bank account was filled for the month and he only had one job left on his list.

After arriving at the hotel he checked in, he immediately showered to wash off the stench of death. Before he let himself crash on his bed, lost in deep sleep in just seconds. His weapon would be cleaned tomorrow. He wasn’t that lazy all the time; he took rather good care of his weapons, but this job was one which took 16 hours up until that point and he needed his beauty sleep.

  
  


He awakened hours later from the soft ping of his phone. His eyes snapped open immediately and he grabbed the object from his bedside table. Another job. Yes, he remembered the job but he hated that person. It was the wife of a cheating bastard - again. Why didn't men with money know it was a dangerous thing to stick their dingdong’s into other people's holes when they knew hitmen existed? What a moron!

He sent a quick “I accept” message to her - she knew him very well by now. She hired him for her last three husbands as well, paying him a hefty sum of money. Brett sighed when he saw her demand: _finish the job within three days. Clean._ Thankfully, the location of his target wasn’t far; he only needed to drive two cities over.

After having breakfast and a change of clothes, he got into his car and checked all the necessary information before he drove away.

That guy loved to fool around with women., He never gave attention to his wife nor did he care about her. Even after promises on top of empty promises, he didn’t change. Now the woman was greedy and wanted his money as well as his head, preferably with a hole in it of course.

Oh well. Brett didn’t care much for money; he had enough for quite a while. Being a hitman was quite profitable for someone like him who didn’t mind shooting people for money. Nevertheless, Brett’s still going to do the job more as a courtesy to the woman because they have known each other for quite some time now. . She was very well versed in the bedroom - Brett knew that from first hand experiences - and she paid him almost double his normal prices. If he was being honest, he’d say the woman was a schmuck herself, but she knew people. Very important people. She alone brought him more money than he could spend in his whole lifetime, just because she had friends with deep pockets who heard about Brett and his proficiency in making someone vanish from the face of the earth. Oh, and of course, sex with her was superior so long as Brett found a way to keep her mouth busy. 

He checked into the same hotel where his employer and target were residing, and he quickly got to work. 

It was going to be a long ass day and he definitely needed caffeine. A lot.

If he would ever settle down, he would open a coffeeshop, just to be his own best customer probably. Brett grinned. Oh yes, what a nice daydream, one that would probably never come. Killer didn’t quit because they had enough, they quit because they were dead. But he allowed himself that little dream nonetheless. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


“I couldn’t hear you quite clearly last time,” he hummed, resting his head on a hand. “Tell me why you think you’re here, please.”

There was harmony in everything, music in every last corner of this world: he relished the melodies of carousels at theme parks, of rain against sodden dirt. He struggled to hide a satisfactory grin at unintelligible words dripping from a swollen mouth, each word carrying with it beads of fresh crimson. His eyes darted with mirth as it trailed her arms, littered with patches of untouched skin that merely awaited his blade.

The table he was resting on creaked as he hopped off, feet landing on the concrete with a gentle thud _._ “Still can’t hear you, dear. But you know what? Maybe it’s my fault. Let me rephrase the question so it’s easier for you to understand.” He knelt down by the wooden chair at the center of the dimmed basement.His hand moved to cusp her jaw, “You did something wrong. Please let me know what you think that ‘something wrong’ is.”

“Nothing. I’m innocent-”

A flick of the wrist, his knife slicing right through her flesh, the blade continuing to travel up her arm as it dug deeper into the bone, leaving a trail of fresh blood on his black gloves; an inhuman cry, another call for help ignored as he clicked his tongue and stood up, brushing dust off his blazer. His hand swiped across the blade in a fickle attempt to rid it of any traces of blood, sending droplets scattering across the ground.

To Eddy Chen, this was the sweetest melody, music in its purest form. Symphonies paled in comparison to screams of scums as they attempted to justify their worth; the gentle lull of the human voice, the inexplicable range that it carried always reminded Eddy of how mystical the body was, how many secrets it held within its cells. Ultimately it was his job to exploit these secrets and manipulate them to his advantage, wasn’t it? Perhaps that was the reason why he took a certain sadistic joy in these particular killings., Perhaps it was why he enjoyed these moments of bliss and beauty in his explorations of the human body.

“Try again.” A small, charismatic smile grew on thin lips. “If you give me the correct answer, I might consider letting you go, love.”

She shook her head once again, her jaw locked in place. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Hm. Really?”

“No, I’ve already said that I was innocent.”

“If I can prove that you’re lying,” he raised an eyebrow, “what should your punishment be?”

The room fell into a long silence. Eddy watched the look in her eyes shift into a sudden hesitance and uncertainty, taking it as his opportunity to continue. “Leona Kearney. 32 years old. You switch between way too many addresses, but your primary home - the one registered under the government - is at 130 Queen St; any reason why you feel it’s necessary to change where you sleep every night? You can let me know. I don’t bite, dear.”

More silence. 

He grinned, leaning back onto her chair and resting his hand on her bare shoulder. “It’s a nice little website you run, right? Selling data on other people, giving anyone blackmail material as long as they pay you for it. The website has grown so popular that you don’t even need a job anymore, hm? What an achievement.

You’ve been on my radar for a while. You try to cover your tracks, but never well enough - this was bound to happen the second you started the site.” His hand moved up her shoulder and neck, smearing red against her collarbone; his eyes glinted as he dug a finger right into a cut under her jaw, forcing a whimper from bruised lips. “Once you uploaded some… _tapes_ of my client, it was over. Should have been a good little citizen and worked at a normal store. Should have been satisfied with the life you had prior to this disaster.”

He continued to trail up her skin until he reached her hair; gently combing through the brown knots and brushing off bits and pieces of dirt that had accumulated. Her shoulders tensed the more he combed through it. He took satisfaction in watching his every move force a shiver out of her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he mused. “I just brought up a pretty heavy allegation against you. Is there anything you would like to say regarding your innocence?”

No reply. Her bound hands tapped against the wooden chair, fingers all swollen and red from Eddy’s previous attacks. His eyes narrowed at the gesture - her tapping wasn’t in time with the music in his mind, it was _all_ off-beat - and he grabbed a fistful of hair, slamming the back of her head into the frame and knocking a yelp out of her.

“I think my patience with you is running out.” His smile grew even wider, now tainted with a childhood luster as he leaned closer to her ear and lowered his voice to a dull whisper. “Want to answer my questions before I get to the most enjoyable part of this evening? I’ll give you five seconds to start talking, dear.”

Liquid gold dripping from her neck, the resonant click as it fell onto the ground -

“Five.”

\- the graceful whimpers, the indecision lacing her gaze -

“Four.”

\- bare feet brushing against concrete, the rustle of clothes against restraints -

“Three.”

\- the gentle hum of the lights as they flickered sharply in the cold -

“Two-”

“W-What did you ask before?”

\- ultimately coming together to form a cacophony, so perfect that there was nothing else in the universe that would come close to this masterpiece.

“There’s quite a few.” The flicker of pride and excitement echoed in his mind. “Prove your innocence. If you can’t prove it, then let me know what would be a suitable punishment for lying. I’m open to any suggestions, and can more than definitely give some if you can’t decide.”

She swallowed, her eyes still staring up into the ceiling. Eddy’s hand continued to be nested in her hair, the grip on it tighter than ever. “I know who you’re talking about. You don’t know what he did. There are other videos out there that you can find if you look deep enough: if you knew about me, you had to have known about him and his atrocities. Look, I know I post everything I find but it’s only sick people like him that I’d be sure to advertise and feature. You _know_ I’m in the right on this one, you know you’re after the wrong person-”

“These, quote un-quote, ‘sick people’ are also those who can afford people like me.” His knife tapped against the chair. “I don’t care who I work for. I don’t care what crimes they’ve committed. I get paid in the end, love, and that’s all that I care about.”

“You had to have seen the video of him with that one-”

He snickered. “You’re getting desperate. You’ve just acknowledged your own guilt. Why don’t you just quit with trying to change my mind and rather start thinking of good punishments? I’m more of a knife person, so that’s all I have on me right now - but there’s more weaponry in the car that I wouldn’t mind using on you. Just give me an idea of what you want, and I’ll see it through.”

Eddy had a reputation of killing in silence: no words ever being said, no music playing in the background, nothing except for the fascination glowing in his pupils as he tore into his victim. He had always snorted at that belief because he believed that killing was done in movements: a four-movement symphony where every action he had taken in the first three would contribute to the ultimate beauty in the fourth.

It was incorrect to believe that killing was only the actual act of doing so; there was so much context, so many motifs that would have been ignored had he gone down that route. Death wasn’t just a movement: it was a symphony spanning weeks, months, maybe even years, depending on the target; it was the enticing drone of the first movement when he received the request, the overly boring second movement as he hunted his target down, the rapid-fire music of the third marking a prelude to the finale.

Eddy’s favorite movements were the third and the fourth: making sure his victims knew exactly what was coming for them in joyous conversation and the occasional slip of his knife, followed by what he was _known_ for, the actual silent killing. He sighed at the silence from Leona, letting go of her hair and cleaning his knife off to the best of his ability. Perhaps it was time to finish this masterpiece, to let his instruments sing with what little they had left.

He took a deep breath and began to conduct.

There was something disturbing about being in such close proximity with this man; the booth at the club was surprisingly quite open, and while Eddy had attempted to move as far as he could from this asshole, he felt the need to push himself right up against Eddy until their shoulders and legs felt as if they had been glued together.

 _Just in case someone is eavesdropping,_ he claimed.

Eddy nearly snorted. _Yeah, bullshit._ Because claiming that someone could have been listening in on their confidential matters was an excuse to keep sliding his hand up Eddy’s thigh - had he not paid extremely well in comparison to other bosses, Eddy would have left right then and there, perhaps after leaving a dent in his skull. 

Tomorrow night, a hotel where both of them were staying. The target? His wife who he knew had been slowly taking money away from both his business and personal account and transferring them into her own; who he knew had been fucking around with other people every once in a while, too. It took all his strength for Eddy not to call him a hypocrite, but _god_ , would it have made his first movement sound so much better. Method? A quick kill, none of Eddy’s usual tricks - so out went the third movement and some of the excitement he had held about this mission.

After managing to escape the unsettling aura of his new boss, Eddy headed over to the bar to pick himself up a Jager Bomb; it was time to start planning soon, but - he dropped the shot into the glass - he could enjoy himself for once tonight.

  
  


Brett closed the laptop as soon as he finished reading up what he needed to know. This was going to be easy. The man had no morals and was not a difficult target - he loved nice looking guys and beautiful women. While Brett was not a wonderful girl, he _was_ nice to look at. He would probably just lure him to one of the bathrooms with a little lie and then pump him full of lead. Easy.

But for now he wanted to get a little bit of rest and de-stressing. Yes, he heard there was a club right next to the hotel. He would check that out. Maybe he would even see his target. 

The man freshened himself up a bit before slipping onto some chucks, not his Lobb’s, and heading to the club. Before entering, he discreetly looked at a picture of his target on his phone. It wouldn’t hurt to mix business with pleasure, he thought. 

He went instantly to the bar to get himself a black betty. It wasn’t his favourite but he got at least some decent alcohol inside him. While he waited for his drink to be mixed, he looked around. Some smashed partygoers, another asian boy, many different white faces, oh, the same asian boy again? And finally, oh yes, his target. Brett paid for his drink and grinned. Man that was a piece of cake. He could even do it right now! Well, he only had his knife with him and he hated making a mess, but why wait?

He gulped half of his drink in one go and let his eyes wander again. It was never good to be too focused on one person; someone could be alerted. He felt the tiny hairs on his neck raising. Something was off. Another quick look around told him nothing. Why was he suddenly feeling uneasy? Brett always listened to his instincts and now it told him another killer was with him in the club. His eyes fell again on the other asian boy. Wasn't he familiar? He thought he had seen his face once or twice already.

More out of courtesy than anything, he nodded to the boy.

Eddy raised an eyebrow at the nod; now who was he? Eddy could, too, have sworn that he had seen that face somewhere, but as to where exactly, he wasn’t sure. He nodded back in response - a quick, succinct nod that conveyed nothing more than acknowledgement - and then he quickly turned around before his own curiosity could begin to burn a hole through his gut.

Who the _hell_ was this man, with those glasses framing his eyes and the sharp gaze, and why did he carry with him an odd sense of danger? There was a name hanging somewhere on the tip of his tongue, and yet Eddy was wrought with frustration as he attempted to force himself to remember.

It was entirely possible that this person had been just another bystander in one of Eddy’s missions, and that during a quick survey of the location, he had picked him up; but then the nod didn’t make sense (and - even though Eddy wouldn’t acknowledge it - his memory wasn’t good enough to remember if he had seen someone during an assessment). He took yet another breath, returning his attention to the unfinished drink in front of him, and swirled it around, listening to the shot glass clink around in the liquid - at the back of his mind was the underlying danger, the feeling of alarm that sent Eddy narrowing his eyes.

A sigh. Eddy glanced back at the man before taking his drink and slugging over. He was going to figure out exactly who he was before his own questions got the better of him. Without a single word, he slid into the seat right next to him, and took a large sip of his drink, letting it burn his throat; no words were exchanged between the two as Eddy rested his arms on the table and took a newfound fascination with the array of alcohol behind the bartender.

“So,” he cleared his throat after way too many minutes, “how are you, dear?”

Brett grumbled something under his breath as the young man - or was it a boy? - drew near. He didn’t want _his_ attention, he wanted the one of his target. He probably could dispose of the boy too, but why? He had no reason to. Brett wouldn’t get any money and so far he wasn’t being molested, which he really hoped stayed that way. He hated having to hurt civilians. 

But on the other hand, Brett was no asshole who brushes someone off right away. 

“I’m fine. And I’m afraid I’m a bit busy tonight, handsome. Why don’t you try your luck with someone your age?” 

Brett threw him a tight lipped smile. That was friendly enough but it also pretty much said what he wanted to convey. Poor fella. As their eyes met, Brett’s neck hair rose again. No way.

He stopped in his tracks. No way that _boy_ was a killer. Well, Brett himself didn’t look that much older, true, but dang! The hitman looked at Eddy’s fingers. Well manicured, slender, long. Ideal for handling weapons and knives. He squinted.

“On the other hand, you seem familiar. Didn’t we meet before?”

If his instinct was wrong and that boy was not a killer, then that would be a first. But there’s always a first time for some things, right?

“I was just going to ask you the same question.” Eddy raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. “But you are correct in that maybe I have the wrong person; I enjoy conversations with people ‘my age,’ not the elderly.”

Eventually, he had lost all control: he broke out into a full toothy grin, his shoulders still raised with an inexplicable tension. His eyes lingered on Brett’s stare - the steadiness, the calm ocean that resided in them, simply awaiting to be unleashed - as he struggled to pinpoint where it could have been from. He tapped his fingers against the glass, a constant drone of notes hung in the air, while cocking his head to the side; each second leisurely flickered by as Eddy downed the rest of the glass, and continued his rhythm.

“Anyways,” no real names; Eddy wasn’t a veteran in this field, but at least he had more than enough brain cells to lie about his own information, “You can call me Andy. Andy Wu. Does the name ring a bell by any chance? Your memory is more than likely better than mine.”

The name tasted like sand in Brett’s mouth and he raised an eyebrow. The boy was lying to him; he knew that. The way his eyes were looking to the side for a split second, the refusal to meet his gaze; the shifting of his body and the picking of his fingers were dead giveaways. But Brett didn’t really care. He wasn’t here to meet his soulmate - and he was pretty sure “Andy Wu” wasn’t them - he was here to get to his target.But he would play along, for a short while at least.

“No, Andy Wu doesn’t ring any bells,” he shot around one look again — nobody was paying the two asian men any mind — before leaning way too much into Eddy’s personal bubble to sensually whisper in his ear, “Brett. My name is Brett, cutiepie.” He let his breath brush over Eddy’s outer ear before pecking the man on his cheek, smirking as he retreated. He drowned his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar. “And now that we know each other's name, what do you want to do next? Here for a small adventure, work or just to chill?”

The hairs on the back of Eddy’s hands stood in attention at the feeling of whispers grazing his ear; there was a glint in his eyes as he spun around to face Brett. _Brett, Brett, Brett_ \- now that was starting to click, and along with that came a sense of realization and slight discomfort: two killers in the same civilian location wasn’t something he was accustomed to. It was more often that they congregated in areas specified for other people like _them._

It took some more time for Eddy to process exactly who he was next to at this moment: the piercing confidence in his eyes accompanying suave, charismatic smirks, all meant to create an illusion of calm to hide the killing tendencies underneath. This was Brett Yang, a prodigy in the field, someone that Eddy had looked up to for all too long; he wiped the peck off of his cheek, his grin growing wider by the second.

“I’m here for anything. Whatever life decides to give me, you know? I do like being surprised.” He hopped off the stool, giving a “thank you” nod to the bartender. “In fact, I’m quite surprised to see you here, Mr. Yang. What’s on _your_ agenda today?”

The instant the boy uttered a last name he never gave, Brett’s eyes darkened until they were almost black. He gripped the taller boy's hip and pressed one leg in between - from an onlookers perspective they were only very heavily flirting - but Brett had his small knife in his hand and let it feel Eddy at his hips. The older man came dangerously close to Eddy’s neck as he pressed an almost gentle kiss on a small spot of his flesh, his teeth right next to Eddy’s Adam’s apple. If the boy turned out to be a threat, he would immediately eliminate him whether it be by slicing open the stomach or ripping out the larynx with his teeth. He had done both before and he would do it again. 

His voice was dark, dark and cold like his eyes, when he turned his head slightly to look at Eddy.

“And who are you to know my name, boy?” One wrong move and the killer would be executed. Brett had no qualms about killing a hitmen if Brett was the target himself. 

The other one may be taller than him but to an experienced martial arts veteran, size didn’t really matter. He could send this man to the floor with a sliced throat in seconds if he was forced to do so.

Eddy heaved out a chuckle tinged with a faint nervousness. He could feel the cold metal against his skin, pushing right against the bone and awaiting its command to act, to kill. Perhaps he should have expected it, especially with how protective other killers were with their full names, but Brett’s response had still caught him off-guard for a second.

 _God,_ how he aspired to be like that someday. The second the initial shock wore off, Eddy’s mind slipped into analyzing exactly how Brett had managed to pull that off so smoothly, without anyone in the club batting an eye; mayhaps it was how harmless the two of them looked, pressed up against each other, or was it the way the stool and Brett’s arm had managed to hide the knife? 

Either way, he relaxed - or attempted to, at least, against all bodily instincts - in Brett’s hold, the cocky grin still plastered on his face. “Relax. I’m not here for you,” he muttered. “But it’s nice seeing you here, love; it’s quite rare to see a legend anywhere around here.”

Brett lifted his leg a tiny bit, his knee was now pressed against a very vulnerable part of Eddy.

“I didn’t ask that, loverboy. Name. Now.” 

He placed his other hand on Eddy’s upper arm, carefully stroking up and down; he had his blade directly where it would hurt a lot - and bleed tremendously - and the hold on the other side to press even deeper to do real damage; all while still having a pleasant smile on his lips and a facial expression of a flirt. His eyes and voice told a harshly contrasting story. Also, the touching was to assess the bodily condition of the other one. Some killers specialized in martial arts, some relied more heavily on guns, other ones preferred knives. 

The muscles under his fingers jumped when he traced them. The overly fast blinking of the lids, the fast breathing — these were all telling Brett a story; a story he liked. Someone was nervous, and rightfully so. But it seems the killer in front of him had an affinity for being active in his killings as well. If Brett would have to take a guess it was probably knives. 

As after a prolonged silence nothing came, he leant even closer - their chest’s were almost touching now, concealing any moves Brett would make.

“Who are you, babyboo?”

“Edward Chen.” His arm continued to twitch as Brett trailed his fingers across his skin. “But most people just call me Eddy. Use what you prefer: if you want to call me Andy, I’m fine with that too.”

His eyes flicked over to Brett’s, watching his face fade in and out of the flashing lights of the club. There was something oddly fascinating with how calm and still he was, even with all of the people swirling around them. Eddy couldn’t say the same for himself: the initial shock had worn off, but with each and every single one of Brett’s actions, he felt his shoulders grow tight no matter how much he struggled to relax. Now _that_ was a habit that Eddy had to grow out of — tensing up when things were out of control.

(For short, Eddy was stuck with his baggage of mixed adoration and concern for his own life, a situation that he had never quite expected to be in.)

He let out a deep breath and a long hum. “Anyways, what are your thoughts on letting me go?”

“Hm, I am deeply contemplating ‘letting you go’. Go to heaven maybe.”

But contrary to his words, he turned the knife so as to not “ _accidentally_ ” stab the other man and let it slip into his long button down sleeves before setting his foot down. “Never speak to another one of us like that if you like living. Always introduce yourself first, newbie.” Brett rolled his eyes - clearly annoyed. It was proper etiquette to do so, but the young folks, the new blood that were recruited didn’t seem to have any manners at all. He heard the name Edward Chen before, but not in a very good context. The young man had a reputation of being messy, bloody and uncontrollable. In Brett’s eyes, Eddy’s not the type of killer that would staylong in the business, but that was not his problem. He was not Eddy’s mentor — if the wild beast had one at all. Maybe he ate him already?

“Business or vacation, Chen?”

The hitman turned to the bar and tapped twice on the top of the wood to gently get the barkeeper's attention. It was rude to snap or shout at them and Brett was a gentleman; he prided himself in being that. He ordered two Black Betty’s: One for him and the other for the wild dog. The drinks arrived quicker than he had anticipated, with a casual wink from the barkeeper to boot. Brett took a large gulp before he made a gesture to Eddy to convey that the other drink was his, and he better not complain about it.

Eddy took a short little breath before taking the glass into his hand. “Introductions… yeah, I suppose that slipped my mind, but thank you for the drink. And I’m here for business. I’m not the biggest fan of vacations. I generally find them to be too boring.”

He took a long sip of the drink, letting the black sesame flavor linger in his mouth for a little while - he had forgotten, for a brief moment, how much he enjoyed it. But he also figured that it was time to start holding off since the drowsiness in his head was starting to creep in. “Lightweight” was a term that was always associated with him, and while he wouldn’t mind another drink - especially one that he missed - it wasn’t the best idea to drown himself in alcohol that night.

Eddy’s fingers continued to drum across the glass, eyes shining as they lingered on Brett. With the music blasting in the background and the bass rumbling through the ground, he began to rock back and forth to the melody. 

“What about you?” He didn’t anticipate Brett to be in the bar with only a knife - no, that wasn’t what he was known for. Brett was legendary for his silent shots, his ability to kill quickly with a single bullet. Maybe not Eddy’s style, but he could respect the skill behind that more than anything. “Here tonight just for fun? Looking for someone, maybe? Or just to drink yourself to near-death? I don’t judge. you can be honest.”

“Work mostly.” Brett casually leant against the bar, letting his eyes wander over the huge wave of moving bodies. “I heard the club was good for de-stressing but then I saw my target. What else can be more perfect than a job completed early? And in this mess no one will suspect a thing. Just another poor sap who got himself killed. So sad.” There was no emotion in his voice but he grinned at Eddy. It was rare for him to casually speak about work while _working_ , but he could indulge the newbie a little bit. It wasn’t like he had ever lost sight of his target. Brett still knew where the man was and how to approach and end him. 

“How long are you with us? You are fairly new, right?” The older man wondered if Eddy was even instructed or indoctrinated properly. It didn’t seem like it. He showed no respect for his elder - not that Brett needed that for his ego - and there was still the awe in his eyes whenever their glances met. Either it was because Brett was who he was or because of his “title”. Either way, Brett knew a lot of people who had the same expression - they were all six feet under by now. 

“A few years, I think? I don’t think about it often. There’s too many people who stop contacting you once they realize that you’re pretty fresh in the field, so I just enjoy leaving it vague.” He shrugged, watching ribbons of black swirl around the cup. “Shouldn’t matter if I’m new, as long as I get the job done, hm?”

_And trust me, I get them done._

Eddy had an issue with a majority of the attitudes in the field: primarily the belief that being new meant that they weren’t capable of doing anything, and the restrictive culture that loomed over the assassins - not that Eddy wasn’t guilty of falling into it, of course. A majority of his heroes were the “silent” legends that he had picked up here and there, the killers that left clean traces and a single, mortal wound in their victims; they were the ones that had established the general quota for what was deemed _acceptable_ killing, leaving Eddy as an outlier in this sweep. He pretended to never notice the little shifts and odd stares that he was given every time his name popped up - Brett wasn’t immune from this behavior, but what did Eddy expect? 

Brett chugged the rest of the glass and ordered another one. He eyed the still half-full glass and didn’t order another one for Eddy. It seemed like the boy either didn’t like the drink or he was restraining himself from drinking more. It was always better to be clear headed on the job for sure. But was Eddy on the job? He was on business, yes, but did he have a mark in the club like Brett? That would be a funny coincidence.


	2. Act 1.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 coming up. Hope yall have fun with it :D

**Chapter 2 Act 1.5**

  
  
  


_ Brett chugged the rest of the glass and ordered another one. He eyed the still half-full glass and didn’t order another one for Eddy. It seemed like the boy either didn’t like the drink or he was restraining himself from drinking more. It was always better to be clear headed on the job for sure. But was Eddy on the job? He was on business, yes, but did he have a mark in the club likeBrett? That would be a funny coincidence. _

“Is your mark here?” Nothing was better to extract information than a straightforward question. They had nothing to hide from each other anyway.

Something about Brett’s tone resonated within Eddy; Brett’s eyes still carried with them the same dark look as before when he grinned, leaving Eddy with a strange sense of satisfaction and a small, bitter scoff as he shook his head. 

“Not my mark. My client, actually.” He jerked his head slightly toward the booth at the corner of the club. “He doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to drink a little and cleanse my soul of his dirty ass hands. He’s one of those rich dickheads that think they can do whatever they want as long as they’re paying, but hey. Who am I to complain? Pay’s better than the average person.”

Brett raised an eyebrow to that. “Meeting your client  _ here _ ? Oh well, to each their own I guess. I like to actually speak to my client without shouting. And who is that specifically? Don’t tell me the guy in the booth who tried to grab the waitress’ ass right now.” Because that would be his mark. Small world, it seems. 

“Is he, now?” Eddy flinched, sparing a glance at the booth - and indeed, the man was starting his advances on a waiter. “Unfortunately so, I guess. But what can we do?”

Brett drowned another drink and scooted closer to Eddy, creating an aura of closeness and familiarity which was always a bad thing when confronted with a killer. He even went as far as laying a hand on Eddy’s shoulder again, stroking the boy’s arm while he smirked. “You really need someone who can help you with your clients if they  _ dare _ to touch you. And no, I don’t mean that you are unable to procure those clients, just that you might need a little nudge in the right direction. Who is your mentor? I know you like it messy so I am quite interested in how you were trained. There are not a lot of messy killers out there and that is for a reason. I’m sure you know that careless killers are prone to making mistakes and more often than not, they are wiped before they could fully bloom into the killers they promised they could be. It’s always sad to hear one of us had to go, whether by their own choice or because they have a bullet in the back.” 

And it was true. Their job had a high risk-high reward system and Brett has stayed long enough in the business to see very talented young folks turn their head only once in the wrong direction and had their existence wiped out the next day. He has always found it disheartening.

Nothing quite helped the atmosphere like Brett’s breath right against Eddy’s neck, his voice so low that the younger could feel it rumbling through his own body; it certainly didn’t help the tension in his shoulders as Brett continued to trail his fingers across his arm with a smile that seemed enjoy the discomfort radiating from Eddy. Eddy shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing with its own determination as he continued to tap away at the half-empty glass, hoping that the rhythm could drown out the oddity of the situation. 

His frown deepened at the sound of  _ right direction _ \- because who was someone else to claim what was right for him? He quite enjoyed the feeling of red-stained hands and screams reverberating in his head, thank you very much; it was what felt comforting to him, as it accompanied the swell of instruments and shifting harmonies. Sliding Brett’s hand off his shoulder, he shook his head and started with the most obvious move: dodging the fact that he wasn’t “properly” trained. 

“The only killers that end up being found are the ones that were too careless,” he snickered, “This more brutal style - this ‘messy killing,’ as you so kindly put it - comes with its own risks, yes, but anyone who is careful enough to consider every last aspect of the kill and hide it properly won’t end up dead on the pavement tomorrow. It’s just a shame that a majority of these slow killers end up dying too soon because they haven’t perfected their craft yet; no role models to look after on how to do this type of kill, nobody to ask questions because the field is so saturated with silent killers.”

Eddy raised the glass and swirled it again, albeit with enough force that it sent droplets of the liquid splattering over his hand. “You ought to give it a try sometime, perhaps. It’s quite settling, dismantling your victim one step at a time until they’re nothing but a begging pile of torn bones and flesh. While there is merit to poking a hole in someone’s head and calling it a day, beauty lingers behind the sweet sound of your feet against crimson-stained soil, the delicacy of rough breathing…”

Brett put his hand right back where it was and leant even closer, so close his lips were almost touching Eddy’s ear. Of course he noticed how Eddy was evading his question about a mentor. He concluded that the boy didn't have one or never had. Oh, what a surprise - not. His voice was soft, too soft and gentle for the words that were about to be spoken. 

“I didn’t start out as a ghost, my dear. And yes, most of us are silent because we learned the hard way what happens otherwise. Many good people - people I called friends once - were lost in the sea of blood we bathe in every day, in an industry that calls ending someone’s existence work. Like I said, I have been in the field a bit longer so if you want, I can offer you an open ear. From colleague to colleague,” Brett backed up a bit when the muscles under his hand stiffened further and took a sip from his drink, “Just an offer, no pressure. Think about it and then come back to me, if you want. But let me give you one last free piece of advice: Watch your back; somebody might have already put their mark on it. From what I hear, you  _ are _ talented and I would hate to hear of your vanishing. We definitely need more young blood to survive.” 

Brett always tried to take subtle care of the younglings when he met them, but most of them were like Eddy; too proud to ask for help when offered or just too confident in their own abilities that they completely disregard the importance of  _ asking for help _ . It was ridiculous. Brett was trained thoroughly and raised to be a killer - probably much different from what Eddy has been through. So of course their view on things were different. 

His motto was “ask before it is too late” because one could only learn  _ when still alive _ . Sadly they acquired a few hotheads in the past who didn't understand this simple concept and as far as Brett knew, none of them survived the five year mark. 

Eddy raised an eyebrow; his reply was sweet and succinct. “I’ll think about it, love.”

Nothing else to be said: his eyes were clouded over with thought (or, he supposed, the lack thereof - to say he was considering Brett’s offer was an overstatement, even if the dream of Eddy working with a legend continued to reside in his mind). He took another swig of his drink, downing the rest of the liquor in a few gulps; the only words left in his head were  _ watch your back _ , the only advice that he felt he could reasonably take from this encounter. 

“Now, back to work, do you prefer honor or money because your client is my mark. That means your last payment will fall through if I go to him now. Let me guess, judging from his looks, he wants to eliminate his wife, eh?”

Time to talk business. Brett would not start fighting over  _ money _ with another killer, he could back down without problem, but he would rather have it talked through before he decided on what to do. 

His employer gave him a huge sum, he was willing to split and fulfill both their marks and miss out on the last payment. Better than the alternative: talk to his employer and reveal that his spouse paid a good sum to have his head. It wasn’t always a comfortable scene; horror unfolding in someone’s eyes. He had seen it happen a few times and it was never a good thing. Worst case scenario both killers are in danger afterwards. Because why take the risk for a killer to switch allegiance for money, when one can just call another hitman to kill three people instead of just one? Much easier for the people with the money. 

But that depended on what Eddy’s perspective was and where his focus laid. Brett remembered Eddy talking about “good money” so it was a fair assumption the boy did it for financial reasons, not the kill itself. And if he was the same as Brett - principles above gold - then they certainly needed to talk things through, preferably calmly and in a much quieter place. Like his hotel room or so. 

While it wasn’t forbidden to kill another killer on the job, Brett liked to avoid it. They were sparse enough as it was. And he really believed Eddy had talent; it wasn’t just cultivated enough. In a one-on-one Eddy would definitely lose and Brett strived to avoid such a possibility. He just hoped it wouldn’t have to come to that. So he waited for Eddy's reply while sipping on his drink. His mark was always at the corner of his eyes. He would know when the disgusting man moved. Hopefully, they would have resolved their current problem before his target decides to call it a night. 

_ Wait, what?  _ It was then that Eddy was ready to spit his drink out, because what were the chances? “He’s your mark?” he echoed. “What an odd coincidence.”

Eddy was grateful for two things in this strange case: first, that he had been paid previously for Maria’s killing, and that second, while it wasn’t a large sum that could last him for all eternity, it was enough to keep Eddy and his immaculate saving habits afloat for the next few months. And judging by Brett’s phrasing of the question - honor or money, preserving your reputation or falling guilty of coming off as greedy - it seemed to be edging Eddy toward one answer.

Of course, that and the fact that arguing about money with other killers, if it really came to that, was a risk. Something about that confrontation seemed extremely explosive, and Eddy was not going to risk any fight with Brett, considering the awestruck luster he held in his eyes the moment the knife was pressed to his hip. He liked living, thank you very much, and while whatever this guy’s name was paid extremely well, Eddy wanted to at least hold some merit in Brett’s eyes while alive. He snickered and sighed, sliding the emptied glass between his palms. His mind was swirling with thoughts now: how this could work out, what would be the best move, and-

-and how did Brett guess the target based on appearance? Now that was a surprise, forcing yet another pause out of Eddy and a complete freeze to all his tangents.

“Yeah, she’s the target.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t it be funny if she was your client? Now that would be insane - but anyways, I guess I can make a pass on the money. I’m set for the next few weeks, anyway.”

“She  _ is _ my client. If you are not completing the job, give back the money. Well, if you want that is. Otherwise just kill her off as well. Take the money and do the job. I got paid half upfront but I have an idea how that could work out fine.”

Brett took the last sip from his drink and pulled the other hitman close to him; his hand - this time without the knife - laid gently on Eddy’s hips.

“Now go outside and play. I need to make my mark. Then we can talk about yours, babyboy.”

He pressed a quick kiss on Eddy’s cheek - he loved to be very handsy to all the other hitmen; it always created such a fun and interesting atmosphere between the killers - before letting him go, giving Eddy no chance to answer. 

“I-“ Eddy’s mouth was agape as he watched Brett slide into the crowd and vanish; there was something mystical about the way he moved, the way that he blended into the dancers despite having a  _ different _ type of grace. He couldn’t quite describe it, but he could hear it in his head: a concerto intertwining its notes with the pop blasting out of the speakers, creating a medley that matched against all odds. The peck on his cheek burning, he continued to watch, his eyes glowing, as Brett made his way into the booth. 

So smooth, so casual; nobody would have suspected a thing. If there was anything Eddy knew he struggled with, it was the initial approach of the mark: he struggled to be suave and collected whenever they were approached, and only managed to hide it with the elegance of his words. 

This was a performance. This was a dance between Brett and the bastard, with one of them leading the other to his demise; this was something that Eddy found worth watching and analyzing, with how Brett took full control of the pacing and steps, with how everything looked beyond  _ natural _ . Nobody around the duo suspected a thing - nobody had the reason to, with how ordinary the situation looked. 

He pinched himself.  _ This isn’t a dream _ . This was real; Eddy watching Brett start his kill was entirely real, and there was no way in hell that this was pure imagination. 

With measured, overly confident steps he went to his mark, smiling at him gently and in no time he slipped beside him. Yes, that man was disgusting and as good as dead. Not even one glance was spared to Eddy; Brett had no reason to do so. He was in the zone and only a few agonizing minutes later both stood up - Brett took the vile man at his sweaty, disgusting hands and pulled him to the bathroom. Dirty and filthy, just like his mark. The hitman could not wait to be finally free of this  _ thing _ . Brett made sure he locked the door behind him before proceeding to earn his money.

The second Brett took the man’s hand and slid into the bathroom, Eddy took it as his cue to leave. He stumbled through the crowd - there were too many apologies mumbled in the brief period - and headed outside; the air was less stuffy that night, but there was still a humidity to it that made Eddy want to return to the air-conditioned room. But that wasn’t the point; he leaned against the concrete wall and mumbled a hello or two to the people around him in hopes of seeming less awkward than he was. 

After Brett was finished, he washed his hands - the only thing that got dirty in the whole procedure. Now time to go back to his client and take the rest of the money before giving Eddy the room number. He didn’t want another job from her anyway.

Time ticked by, yet it wasn’t long when Brett stepped out of the bar, looking as if nothing had ever happened. Eddy blinked for a moment, before clearing his throat and asking, “Sorry - you said you had an idea, dear?”

Brett’s eyes glinted, still feeling the adrenaline of the kill rushing through his veins. He eyed Eddy up and down, cocking his head to one side. He wasn’t sure what to expect; certainly not that the young killer was waiting in front of the club like a well behaved and trained dog. But he would take what Eddy gave him oh so willingly.

“Yes. Idea. Come, we will go to my hotel room and  _ talk _ .” 

The younger hitman looked quite lost and Brett felt like he was the nice new owner of a puppy, taking him in, sheltering from the rain and raising him. What an absurd thought. The smaller man snickered and held his hand for Eddy to take. “ _ Then come, come with me like a good boy _ .”

Yes, he was overly excited after a kill. He always was. He may be the calm and collected killer on a mission, but he was entirely too hyped after one. He needed to to calm down. Having gutted a man only two minutes prior, leaving wonderful streaks of blood everywhere, left him wanting  _ more _ . More of the blood, more of the adrenaline, more of everything. Eddy would have liked his kill tonight. Not that it was messy, but it was bloody. The cuts he set were precise and thoughtful, bringing more pain than blood at first. Then the bastard started to whimper and plead and the fun ended shortly after. He licked over his lips. His preferred method of getting rid of the adrenaline was sex - which he sure as hell didn’t get here or with Eddy - so that had to wait. When Eddy didn’t take his hand, he got annoyed and grabbed it, pulling the taller man alongside him. 

“Come on,  _ babyboy _ , let’s not waste anymore time.”

Eddy wasn’t quite sure why he expected rationality after a kill - he too was guilty of adrenaline rushes and over-excitement, and Brett was clearly the same, with the slight tremors in his hand and the faint maniacal glare in his eyes. He hesitated, looking down at Brett’s outstretched palm, beckoning toward him, before he felt his hand snatched tugged. His feet jerked forward as the grip on his wrist tightened; he took a deep breath in an attempt to rid his mind of the shock that he was still trying to process.

A few moments later, and then they were at the hotel - right next to the bar, its golden chandeliers gleamed through the windows. Brett’s hold was still tight around Eddy’s wrist as the two of them continued to stumble through the parking lot and into the lobby: Eddy wasn’t quite sure how to react, if he should at all, as it seemed as if Brett was lost in his own thoughts. Whether or not that's true, he definitely couldn’t tell just from seeing the back of Brett’s head bob up and down with each thundering footstep; there was nothing he could see in Brett’s expression when they began to wait for the elevator, leaving the silence heavy and threatening.

It was awkward too. Eddy scratched his head as he watched the counter flicker between floors 20 and 34. He let out a quiet  _ tsk _ , before deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to say something in this odd time - maybe Brett’s jaw wouldn’t be so set if he started speaking. “How did it go?”

“As well as one could expect. He was dumb and thought of himself as better. He was so easy to lure in; it was laughable. You would have liked the sight of him afterwards. He annoyed me with his pleading so I ended it quicker than I would have liked it, but dang, they are so  _ annoying _ when they beg. Now the bathroom is in pretty red. You like red, right?”

The elevator dinged and opened its door for them. Brett shuffled inside with Eddy’s hand tightly in his own. If Eddy was someone else, Brett would have pressed him against the doors and… 

Harshly he cut off that train of thought. While his job was done, Eddy’s wasn’t. He needed to be more composed. Not for his sake, but the other hitman. Harshly pressing the button for the 29th floor, way harder than necessary, the doors closed and Brett rested his forehead against the cool metal.

He only allowed himself a few deep breaths before snapping back up, turning to Eddy with his famous deadpan. He was now calm and collected once more.

A pause - and then Eddy realized that he had a metronome standing right next to him, amazed at how quickly Brett managed to switch between being on the thrill of the mission and his normal self. It wasn’t difficult for him to imagine the bathroom after the muder; in fact, it was something that he was familiar with in this bizarre situation, and trying to imagine walls smeared in crimson provided more comfort than he expected.

His hand was still nestled in Brett’s; he was frozen, unable to react. Why was the air so odd? Why was there a tension so tangible that he could nearly see it floating across his eyes despite the silence?

“So, the idea I spoke about. Yes. I fulfilled my mark; I will get my money and then I will give you the key and room number. My client is in this hotel as well. When you are finished, don’t come and try to talk, just get out. Never linger. I will pack my stuff as well and leave the city tonight. So, do you have any questions?”

And then, the reminder - right, the mark. That was Eddy’s current priority, and he couldn’t believe that it had almost slipped out of his mind in the past few minutes. He took a short breath, staring himself down in the reflection of the elevator: now was a good time to start sliding out of his reverie since it seemed that the kill would be happening sooner than Eddy anticipated.

But in the meantime - he paused at Brett’s words - there was something else on his mind.

“That sounds good.” He hesitated for a moment, dropping his voice as the door slid open. “But, uh, thoughts on getting another drink sometime soon? I wouldn’t mind another conversation with you, perhaps when we don’t have to worry about our marks.”

Brett shot him an odd look. Did the other man misinterpret his words? That could happen. Wouldn’t be the first time as well. But he didn’t want any  _ physical interaction _ with the boy; he only wanted to help him. Brett wouldn’t be Brett if he didn’t lift his eyebrow and cocked a thin smile.

“Sure. We will probably meet again.” He took the boy to his room and opened it up with a swipe of his card. They shuffled inside and Brett started to pack his things. It wasn’t much so it took five minutes at top. 

“I will go now, when I come back you can have fun with her. And remember:  _ Watch your back _ , boy.”

He petted the others cheeks before slipping out of the room, leaving Eddy behind in the darkness. His steps and mind were calm again when he met his client at the door. This would be the last time he would see Maria alive.

Providing the proof she wanted - a picture of her dead, mauled husband - was all he needed to get the money transfer. He kissed her hand, thanked her for the business and was out - nothing he did afterwards was meant to be a long thing. So it only took him, including the trek to and fro the rooms, ten minutes before he stood in front of Eddy again.

“Room 168 on the same floor - 29.” 

The card gleamed in his hand as he held the golden key up to Eddy. He was not sad to see the woman go.

Eddy nodded as he took the card into his hands. “Thanks.”

A beginner move, but Eddy had decided to meet his client with a small pocket knife resting in his boot: not his preferred weapon whatsoever, hence why he decided to take a quick detour downstairs to pick up something that rested more comfortably in his hands. He was the most comfortable with small knives - good for precision, for inflicting slow damage onto his victims; maybe he’d consider carrying a gun once in a while, but that didn’t happen often.

Eddy’s mantra of packing light definitely came in handy when he stepped into his own hotel room: there was nothing but a single bag, completely packed and untouched on the ground. Would definitely be useful when he finished the kill and needed to take his leave. He switched out the weapon (the indentation of the knife into his foot thanked him in silence), and began to dash back to the room.

Something flashed briefly in his mind - the realization that he had forgotten to ask Brett for any details of their next meeting - but he cleared that away. Not now, there were more important things that demanded his attention, like how he was going to make the kill. Now that his client was dead, there really was some flexibility in what Eddy chose to do - so why not take advantage of it?

The card in one hand and the knife in the other, he pressed his back against the wall. A long, deep breath of cold air, and then the encroachment began.

  
  


_____

  
  


Eddy grinned at the familiar sight: black tufts of hair peeking out among the crowded bar. Did he expect it? Definitely not, and he spent a majority of the morning and afternoon trying to suppress the hope that Brett might even show up. Sauntering across the bar, he took his spot right next to the figure.

“Glad to see you here, love.” He glanced around for the bartender, his fingers drumming against the table. “How are you?”

“Not as nervous as you, babyboo.” Brett slowly turned around and locked his gaze with Eddy’s, a small smile played on his lips. “Heard you had fun yesterday. Was Maria good to you, loverboy? I do hope so. She was always very, very nice to me.”

He set the glass on the counter and placed one hand on Eddy’s lower back, painting circles with his thumb. His smile grew as his thumb slid underneath Eddy’s shirt, caressing the naked, warm skin. 

Lightning flickered in Eddy’s eyes at the mention of Maria. “Of course. Had an absolutely splendid time with her last night. But the poor housekeeping staff; should have left them a tip. There’s plenty that needs to be cleaned-”

Eddy’s voice cut off at the feeling of Brett’s hand under his shirt. The older hitman leant in Eddy’s personal bubble and set his head on the broad shoulder.

“If I had a thin knife in my hand and would insert it only five centimetres deep, you would be paralyzed from the waist down. And you wouldn’t even feel the breaching of your skin. Isn’t that nice to know? If you want to do significant damage with minimal effort, that is the way to go.”

Brett licked his lips and lifted his head off the shoulders and took a sip. Today was a whisky sour day for him. He didn’t need to drive; a friend of his would come and get him to drop him off for his next job. This time it was a partner-job. And knowing he would be on the road for more than ten hours, he could drink a few glasses. 

The storm brewing behind Eddy’s eyes was immediately vanquished in exchange for a feeling of panic settling in his gut and flushed cheeks; confusion swirled around his head as he struggled to process exactly what was happening; the tension that Eddy swore to eradicate came back the second he felt Brett leave his shoulder. His eyes lingered on Brett as he downed the rest of the glass - Eddy’s plan to drink as some form of a vacation from work disintegrated at the wave of discomfort slamming into him, leaving him to just ask the bartender for a glass of water.

“That, um,” he nodded, “that’s good to keep in mind. Thank you, I guess. You’ve done that with a lot of people? I wouldn’t quite anticipate that from you, but hey. I’ve been surprised quite a few times already by you and your habits.”

A side glance and a raised eyebrow was all Eddy got. The boy was again nervous. Even his lips trembled a bit. Why was he so unsure in an instant? Yeah, he had a reputation, but it was not  _ that _ bad, right? Sometimes Brett wondered how the youngsters saw the veterans. They were not all emotionless killing machines! Well, most of them were, but still. They were humans after all. And he just wanted to help Eddy. He was one of the “learning by doing” sort so he just showed Eddy and let him feel it. 

“I have ended people’s lives in over a thousand different ways, of course, paralyzing people was on my bucket list. Also it’s easier to reduce the amount of running and useless chasing you have to do when you have more than one target and only one can run. Believe me, it saved my butt a lot of work.”

He ordered another whisky sour and looked at Eddy again.

“Do you have any questions?”

His hand wandered to Eddy’s sides before settling on his thigh - very high up.

Everything that was happening did not help to ease Eddy’s panic: the past two days had been a complete whirlwind in his head. Nothing with the missions, of course, just the fact that he was in this peculiar situation with another killer he respected greatly, and was entirely unable to understand what the hell was happening. 

The duality of Brett’s advice - solid advice, by the way, that Eddy was more than certain to keep in mind the next time around - and the warmth from his hand burning a hole through his thigh left Eddy frozen for a brief moment. His mouth slightly open, and his face now more than certain a deep shade of red, he figured that this was a nice time to drink his water in a futile attempt to cool off. His fingers continued to drum against the table as he downed the entire glass, wiping his mouth hastily and struggling to think of any questions.

“I, uh, was wondering,” was Brett sliding his hand up? Eddy’s mind was on the point of overdrive at this point; this was  _ not _ what he meant by another conversation at the bar, “just out of curiosity, what’s your favorite way to eliminate a guy?”

“A guy? Hm, I hate when they are snot covered, smelling of piss and shit just because they are scared, so I definitely like to take them out from far away after a good chase. A tiny bullet right between the eyes. That’s always nice. Women mostly beg and offer their bodies and the all too known  _ “I will do anything!” _ God, that’s so annoying,” yes indeed, his hand wandered a few centimeters higher, almost right beside Eddy’s crotch, “When I have time, I will gag them and force them to kill off their partners before I end them. The children I will always kill first. They don’t have to suffer through anything. When I need to eliminate an entire family, I will start with the smallest child, working my way up to the father. He is always the last one to die. How about you? Do you have preferences?”

Slowly his hand made a descend, but to Eddy’s inner thigh. Brett could feel the heat radiating from Eddy’s crotch. It was fun to see another killer beet red and at loss for words. The older men and women didn’t even comment or react to his teasing anymore. That was quite sad for Brett; he loved to tickle a reaction from them. And Eddy responded so beautifully. All the red, the stutter of his words, the nervousness, it was perfect for Brett to see.

Eddy nearly flinched at the feeling of Brett’s hand moving closer to his crotch; he pretended to disregard how he  _ knew _ Brett was getting a kick out of this - the cocky smirk on his lips, the unabashedness as Eddy twitched under his touch, and the sharpness in his gaze told Eddy more than enough. Trying to push the confusion out of his mind was clearly not working: Eddy was left trying to hope that he could drum his fingers loud enough to drown out the white noise.

“Preferences? Let me think about that for a second.” Eddy wasn’t lying when he said he needed the time; his inability to process had completely settled in. “The smaller the group, the better. Solo kills are always the most fun - even better when they’re loud. Start dismantling them, piece by piece: fingernails first, then the fingers themselves, then the hands, and we keep going until their body gives out on them. There’s something nice, watching their eyes widen when you toss their own limbs onto their lap.”

“So you want to take your time with the victim. Well, did someone ever  _ take care _ of you? You sure seem to be the type who would want that.”

His hand drifted upwards, his index finger caressing the sensitive parts of the other hitman. 

“You probably need that as well. You are a wild animal, begging to be leashed and trained, right?”

Now he was outright molesting the man, stroking with his hand over the zipper and what laid behind them. “I know a few  _ tricks _ to help you along, loverboy. But you need to  _ want _ it. Otherwise it's futile. Do you want to learn? Learn from a  _ pro _ ? A veteran on the field? You will carve so much more beautiful in their flesh, much more efficiently, tickle the screams and everything you want from them whenever you want. You can take your time or do it fast, whatever floats your boat and mood that day. And you will leave no trace behind. Only horror. You are now known as the “messy” one, let’s change that,” Brett cupped the bulge in the pants and leant closer, whispering in Eddy’s ear, watching the red spreading, “Let’s change that to choking on words when they want to say your name or hear from your work. Let’s make you  _ great _ . You are good, and I see potential, but can you harness all that without a mentor? Well, probably, but it will take you longer. Much longer.”

He pressed a kiss on the fluttering pulse, sucking gently on it.

“What do you think about a  _ collaboration  _ between us?”

“I don’t…” Eddy’s jaw was still dropped. “I really don’t-”

To say Eddy was simply flustered was the greatest understatement possible - the poor man was in a complete state of disarray, switching between white noise in his head and an inhuman screech. His current predicament was a collision happening inside his mind between the panic, being turned on (he couldn’t deny that; Brett knew exactly what he was doing), and also attempting to think as rationally as possible as to Brett’s proposal. What did he say before? Something about no traces, something about good and great, something about wild tendencies…

His heartbeat was louder than the music in the club; his hands were now uncontrollably shaking as he struggled to find his own words. They were clenched into tight fists, so tight that his knuckles had completely turned white, and only continued to drum against the wooden table at an irregular pace. 

Eddy nearly jumped at the feeling of Brett’s hand  _ continuing _ to travel, doing a full exploration of Eddy’s thigh and crotch. “I-I wouldn’t mind,” he stammered. “That would be pretty - uh, yeah, pretty cool. How will that work?”

Brett used a tiny bit of pressure as he started kneading the very private and very sensitive parts, his grin getting wider. 

“How about you bend over first to show respect for the elderly and then I can start  _ training _ you?”

A wet tongue licked over Eddy’s outer ear before he gently bit into the ear lobe. He had no intention of fucking the boy but it was too much fun to see him like that. He wasn’t a wild beast, he was a soft, moldable kitten. Oh yes, how much Brett loved the fact. The cherry on top was the growing bulge in Eddy’s pants, telling Brett his stimulation was working. Not that it was hard - but something else was hard for sure.

He slipped off the barstool and stepped so close to Eddy their bodies touched. His hand never left him while he stood behind the younger man and pressed his cheek against the other.

“You are such  _ a pretty boy _ . You are like a rough diamond. After I am finished with you, you will be one of the brightest and polished out there. All you have to do is  _ surrender _ . Only once in your lifetime. And only to me.”

Eddy swallowed the mouthful of bile that had left a bitter tang on his tongue; otherwise, his mouth was completely parched and there was absolutely nothing he could say or do in response. The tension in his shoulders had grown to be something that was familiar to him now - he couldn’t remember the feeling of being collected anymore.

He could feel Brett’s breath right against his nape, his low voice rumbling through Eddy’s blood:  _ god _ , what was Brett poking at? Was he aware of what he was saying? Mayhaps he had drunk too much before Eddy had come by - or, the possibility that made Eddy glow even brighter, maybe he was actually trying to get something out of him. 

(And then something else slipped into his mind: was this… really how people were trained? Something about other coworkers and killers undergoing the exact same procedure of being railed into submission made Eddy blanch for a good second.

It was that thought that snapped Eddy back into some semblance of reality.)

“I mean, I don’t...” He blinked, his eyes still wide. “Maybe there are other ways? I mean, I think there are, maybe, we can just-”

Brett silenced him with a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Of course there are other ways. But I am not really fond of the brainwashing the others prefer. I think you need to know how it’s to be the submissive one, truly submissive and devout before you can play  _ god _ .”

His hand wandered higher and he hugged him - that would be the case if Brett didn’t slip one hand under the loose shirt of Eddy to press the cold, deadly steel once again against the too hot skin. “You decide, loverboy. If you don’t want to submit then fine by me. I will not pressure you into anything.” 

He really wasn't; in his experience people sombered up pretty quickly when they felt a weapon on them. It would wilt the obvious boner and reset the brain, purging all lustful thoughts.

The hitman pressed a kiss against the temple and pressed his chest against Eddy’s back, providing more contact points. 

Oh, how right Brett was with that - Eddy snapped right back to being alert the second he felt the blade, the odd haze slipping away at the sound of uncontrollable alarm bells in his head. He glanced back at Brett, a flash of unrecognizable thought crossing his narrowed eyes. 

His voice was low, a mere whisper; a shaky chuckle escaped in some attempt to rid the lingering anxiety. “Clever. Are you contemplating putting the knife five centimeters into my spine, now?”

Again - so smooth, so flawless; it left Eddy stuck figuring out exactly where Brett could have slipped the knife from, and how it was done so well. Maybe he had been careless and lost in a puddle of his own respect and confusion - and lust, but he didn’t want to acknowledge that - but there was still, always, something he could take away from this encounter, wasn’t there? It was unfortunate that his mind was still running miles beyond any train of intelligible thought; whatever just happened would be left to consider later that night.

“I’ll consider the offer,” he hummed, “but not now. Hope that’s fine by you.”

“In this position I wouldn’t go for your spine, honey,” He let his hands travel upwards - over the shirt thankfully - and placed the sharp weapon underneath Eddy’s pec, “I would go for the heart. Just a tiny little jab between the ribs and I have punctured your heart. No one can be saved from that. And sure. Take your time thinking about it.”

He let go of Eddy and sat beside him, finishing his glass in one last gulp before licking his lips and smiling at the boy - his eyes were clear. It was as if he hadn’t drunk any alcohol to begin with. 

“Anyway, I need to go. My next job is lining up and I don’t want to be late; it’s rude to the other party to be tardy. I will see you around, babyboy.”

Brett really hoped Eddy would think about the offer for real. It wouldn’t matter if he was the mentor or someone else; he just wished for Eddy to be alive in 5 years. Brett obviously knew Eddy had a good eye and he was very much a pleasure to be around - if not for all the small little fun he could have with him. The hitman smirked at that. Yes, for a blushing, stuttering mess he was very,  _ very _ cute. It was like seeing a drunken dog wobbling to the owner. But he digressed; he really needed to leave now. So he paid for the drinks and turned Eddy’s head with one of his hands to press a quick kiss on his lips. His eyes sparkled and he vanished into the crowd, leaving Eddy in the dust with a blank stare and buzzing lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was that.  
> Next Wednesday will be the next update!!!!!
> 
> Please don't forget to kudo and comment if you liked it. Thank youuu


	3. Act 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a twist and more sizzling and crackling action betweent he boys. Are you ready :D?  
> I sure am!!!!
> 
> If you liked it, please comment & Kudo. Authors need that to see if you liked it and want more or not. A kudo doesnt hurt and a small comment either D: so please?  
> If you wanna more, you know what to do :D

**Chapter 3 Act 2  
**

  
  


Exhaustion found its way into Eddy’s bones as he stumbled down the street, his hands all fresh and cleaned after his last kill. Sneaking a glance into a nearby car mirror - make sure nobody was behind him, nobody saw anything - he continued to weave through the warm air of the summer city and took a deep breath of the pollen-filled air in some attempt to rid his body of the lingering adrenaline.

Eliminating the mark never lost its glamour; it was still satisfying to Eddy after all these years, and there was absolutely nothing in the known universe that could beat the glory of a kill. The spark and excitement always persisted, even if some things had grown to be quite different: sometimes, Eddy looked back at his old self from two years ago and scoffed, because what an _absolute_ fool. 

Firstly, the fact that he was disorganized to the point where he had lost all track of where everything was - did he forget to dispose of the bloody clothing once? Indeed. Was his career ruined for it? Not quite, thank god. Did he also forget to check his tail, forget to see if anyone had their sights on him as their next kill? Definitely, leaving Eddy both grateful that the person was even more of an amateur than he was and pale at the realization that he genuinely had no idea what he was doing. Brett pointed out his incompetence in the bar: it was the moment when Eddy had the corpse and a bloodied pocket knife in a parking lot that made him internalize it.

And, of course, the fact that he took _pride_ in the mess once. How odd. How stupid.

How naive.

The night was beginning to grow darker by the second, but there was a stop in Eddy’s mind - he was behind to the point that he was completely oblivious to news from years ago, and there was a rumor involving the _once_ -legendary Brett Yang that he needed to confirm for himself. It was careless, as he was still too close to the vicinity of the kill: however, the curiosity that simmered in his gut refused to release its hold on him.

He turned the corner, and there it was - a little café, completely inconspicuous in the warm street lights. Despite it being too late for any type of coffee, it was still bustling with people enjoying their conversations with each other: somewhere in there should be his answers, his confirmations. 

One last deep breath, and Eddy dove in.

  
  


Two years passed since Brett vanished on the young killer. 

His next job he was leaving the boy for ended in a disaster. That had to be karma at its best. 

What was the very important thing he tried to teach Eddy? 

Oh yes, be careful of your back. And only a five centimeter blade was enough to destroy your life. 

Well, it certainly was. Brett was sitting in his comfy chair and smiled at his patrons. His helper did all the work - he was too small to reach over the counter anyway. Lazily he moved to the back of the counter, stopping to have a chat with a very young man; clearly a newbie.

He straightened out his scarf he took upon himself to wear - he got cold very easily these days - and folded his hands in his lap. His glasses were adjusted as well and he looked over the counter, seeing all the beautiful decorated sweets lined up behind the glass. This was not what he thought his life would end up with, but he was happy anyway. He was alive and that was the most important part of it. 

Some patrons came to him, chatting with him, mostly small talk. He knew all of them; they were all regulars. Rarely a new face mixed with the old ones. It was nearing 10pm and it was hot and humid in the summer as the sky darkened and he heard the dinging from the chimes above the door. It wasn’t unusual to have people enter that late, so it was nothing he needed to pay attention to.

The patron left him after saying his soft goodbyes and Brett nodded with a gentle smile on his lips. He turned around and made his way slowly to the counter again when he heard a gasp. _This_ was new indeed. He hadn’t heard that in quite some time - over a year maybe?

The hitman looked up to see a new but old face.

A smile formed on Brett lip’s. _The soft kitten came back._

He carefully made his way to Eddy.

“Good evening, Edward. Long time no see. It’s been what, two years now? How have you been?”

Brett had to look up quite high now, considering his height. He would probably never get used to it, but he had to. He was sitting in a wheelchair for a reason after all.

There were stories as to _why_ exactly he was in the seat, but Eddy didn’t quite bother to listen to any of them - he only cared that it happened, and everything else was miscellaneous. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the wheelchair, at Brett resting his hands on the wheels and _none_ of the people here batting a single eyelash at the sight: so had it really happened so long ago? Only two years ago, if what Eddy heard was correct, but even a month was a long time for any assassin.

Eddy was completely aware that he looked like an idiot in the middle of the café, especially with how he was staring at Brett as if the older had three heads. He was grateful that most of the other patrons were focused on their own conversations and circles, and didn’t have the attention to spare for the kid with confusion running through his entire being.

He frowned, all common sense and thought of formalities flying right out the window; arms crossed, he shook his head at the very person who he expected to be anywhere else but the wheelchair, disbelief suspended in his voice. 

There was only one question in his head - “Whoever did this to you,” Eddy furrowed his brows, “are they still alive?”

Brett scoffed. “Of course not. Even a blade in my spine wouldn’t hinder my ability to pull the trigger. But anyway, can I ask you to follow me please? It’s your first time in my establishment and I need you to fill out some paperwork first. I am sorry for the trouble.”

The retired hitman folded his hands on his lap and cracked his neck. Looking up was so annoying, but he couldn’t do anything else other than either asking the other person to squat down or shoot their kneecaps; and both were not very well received most times.

His eyes wandered over Eddy. The boy filled out a bit more and lost some of that baby fat - and what a loss it was! - and in return he got subtle muscles all over him. Eddy’s shoulder broadened with the muscles and he looked very good in a suit. Handsome. Confident. Brett nodded internally, yes. Eddy didn’t look like a bloody newbie anymore, but like a killer who very well knew his worth. He was happy for him. He had heard many things from his interconnected web of ears and tongues and so he knew what Eddy did even after leaving Australia. 

The man laid his hands on the wheels and slowly and carefully turned - it would not do to bump into a paying patron - and wheeled in the direction of his office, waiting for Eddy to follow him.

Maybe Eddy had been so disconnected that he wasn’t aware that stepping into a café meant paperwork to fill out - he blinked, the familiar deer-in-headlights look from years ago coming back once more. There were some habits that never truly died, no matter how much things changed; like, for instance, how Eddy was still willing to follow along with whatever Brett decided to do. 

He slid between the small groups of killers, mumbling quiet apologies every time he had accidentally bumped into any one of them - and Brett had a _wheelchair_ , but could somehow manage to manipulate his way through the café like it was a piece of cake. The fact that someone so agile and graceful was confined to a wheelchair didn’t quite sit well with Eddy; he thought it was unfortunate. But Eddy hoped it was just because of bad luck, not carelessness - to have so much talent wasted in a tiny café continued to simmer in his gut.

Eddy stepped into Brett’s office, entering a world of order compared to the chatter outside: while the little wooden trinkets here and there conveyed the feeling of being in a café, there was also something else in the air that reminded everyone exactly who owned it and who visited it, something that Eddy took an odd familiarity with. Silence, except for the gentle hum of foreign conversation, greeted his ears the second the door clicked shut.

Brett wheeled to the huge wooden desk and shuffled some papers around. He looked at Eddy who stood a couple of steps away from him, and couldn’t help but smile. Yes, so different, yet the same.

“You can sit down; we need to talk things through before I can let you out again.”

He grabbed the right one and slid them to Eddy.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing bad. Look, so, this is the confidential agreement - everything said in this office or café will not be taken advantage of and be spoken about when leaving. Please sign this at the line with the X.”

Only when Eddy did as he was told - not without heavy confusion painted on his face; Brett knew that was quite an unusual thing to do for a _café -_ and Brett took the signed paper, looking over the contents, yes, Eddy was still a good boy and filled it out. Brett put it in a folder to neatly store it away before sliding Eddy the next stacks of paper.

“So, now that I have your signature - thank you by the way for that - I will tell you what this is all about.

You have entered a neutral ground. That means it is not allowed to kill your mark - if your mark is here - under any and, and I repeat that, _under any_ _circumstances_. If you do so your head will be the price within 24 hours. This is a place where killers like you and your colleagues can discuss work - or not if you choose so - and can order new jobs. This is basically a system where I gather jobs with my interconnected web for you guys, basically doing the first rounds of job interviews. I haggle the prices, and put them in an online menu - yes, we have an app too. You need to register and then I can put you on the list of interested killers. 

You will not meet the client personally if you don’t want that - almost everyone uses that method by now. But you can do what you want. Anyway, what do I need from you now? Easy, there is a stack of paper you need to fill out first - or if you are a modern person I can send you the file via email as well for you to neatly fill that out - if you want to be part of this and then I can assign you to jobs. If you don’t want that, that is fine too, but almost 95% of the killers and potential clients of Australia are using this method by now - just a heads up.”

Brett leant back in his wheelchair and watched Eddy like a hawk.

“What do I get in retrospect? Well, a small margin from the price which will be automatically removed when I transfer the money after a completed job. If you don’t fulfill or want to fulfill a job you previously accepted, just talk to me. If you simply vanish without a notice or anything, please remember to expect killers being sent your way. Also you can get jobs via app, but it would be nice if you would enjoy our selection of coffee and cakes as well. If you don’t want to buy food, drinks or look for a job, you can go upstairs. 

There is a quiet bookstore where you either can buy books - helpful guides and such - or take courses and classes. Whether it be language, a more secure rope binding or anything else - you can probably avail of it there. Also our weaponry is up there. So, if you want to buy bullets or are looking for different knives and such, this is the _perfect_ place for it. Anything you want and we don’t have in storage can be delivered within 24 hours. This is a service provided by me, no extra charge on that. But if you want to chill and read a book in a calming atmosphere you are very welcome to do so as well.”

The man took a black cup and drank from it. All that talking! He really should think about making a powerpoint presentation and a handout with everything important! This was way too much. He smirked. Just imagining twenty killers in one room, sitting in rows like in a classroom, looking at slides or a video of him talking things through — that was definitely amusing.

“Then we have one more floor upstairs, where I have prepared guest rooms. If you come from a job and are bloody - please use the backdoor; I will show you later how to get in there. The rooms include a Doctors visit, a new change of clothes, a service from a masseuse, and the use of sauna as well as the swimming pool on the roof. Yes, they are a bit costly, but they provide really well and if you have any wishes we will strive to fulfill them. The only thing not allowed in the rooms is bringing up a prostitute. We don’t like that very much. If you are in need of sexual human contact, we can provide you with an address of a brothel we have an arrangement with. And now the biggest advantage of all: as long as you are within the grounds of our establishment, you have full immunity. If you are the mark of another killer and you are harmed within the confines of the cafe, the perpetrator will be eliminated. You are safe here. Nothing will come for your back here. They may threaten you, but if that happens just talk to me or my staff; we will take care of it right away.

Can your membership be revoked? Yes, through death or violation of our rules.”

Brett took another sip. Why was he doing that every single time himself? He should let an assistant take care of it.

“Those were the basics. In short: Become a member and you get access to everything you want and need, even the ones you never imagined. If anything is unclear or you want more information on it - because I glossed over a few things I know - feel free to ask your questions now. Or later if you prefer.”

The wheelchair bound man knew it was a lot of information to digest but Eddy was smart; he would get what a perfect deal that was. And by the look on Eddy’s face - utter disbelief at the sheer amount of benefits that were thrown at him with a mere signature - he definitely knew. 

Jobs and apps, no need to meet clients face-to-face? An absolute win. Eddy disliked dragging himself out of random hotel rooms for meetings in languages that he could read and write with ease, but still stumbled over when needing to speak it. A library? Another win; the mentor he had worked with for a few months was insistent on literature carrying some of the finest techniques, and Eddy had to agree after poking around himself. But most importantly, the coffee?

Now… now _that_ was something that sent his coffee-addicted mind swirling. It didn’t take long for Eddy to develop a relationship with coffee; the second early mornings became common to the night owl, the number of cups he drank per day skyrocketed. 

He would never tell anyone because of the mortification and judgement it would come with, but his record was twelve cups a day - training with his old mentor used to take so much out of him that he left with more coffee in his veins than blood.

“I have no questions.” 

That was a lie. Eddy had questions that didn’t pertain to the exact topic at hand, like how this entire system had been set up in a few years, how the café managed to establish its legitimacy as a neutral ground, all of the other logistical aspects that he took interest in. He shifted in his seat, leaning back against the rest to make himself a little more comfortable as the curiosity silently gnawed away at him. “But it’s entirely possible that I’ll think of something later on. Anyways, mind emailing me the entire packet or contract or whatever it was?”

"Of course."

Brett opened his slim laptop and opened a few programs. It took him about two minutes, then he regarded Eddy with a calm look. 

"Your email info please, so that I can send you the needed documents. Also, if you want to linger here - maybe eat and drink in the cafe - please fill out the form to your right side. It is called "temporary visit". It just states that you will abide by the rules we discussed and you will be held accountable for any mistakes on your part. If you do not sign and agree to this, I’m afraid I have to kick you out. We take the neutral ground here very seriously and we want to avoid unnecessary killings if possible. You are probably armed to the teeth and I can assure you the other patrons are as well. Nothing stops you from carrying a weapon, only the usage is strictly prohibited. So please be a doll and sign it."

The man twirled a pen in his hand, his eyes never leaving Eddy's face. It seemed he was fully at ease with an armed killer right in front of him without a weapon or any way to defend himself. Not that he was helpless - far from it actually. But it was always a good thing to put up a relaxed, friendly demeanor and stance. Well, no one thought he was going to be a problem anyway. Most of them forgot he was still a killer. And even bound to a wheelchair, he was a damn good one. Some people thought him as easy prey and they were sorely mistaken. They never made the same mistake twice. 

Eddy glanced over the screen - even if his gut told him that Brett wouldn’t do anything malicious, it was always good to double check - before he typed the full email in and slid the laptop back to Brett. A strange excitement simmered in his gut when doing so; a childlike fascination glinted in his eyes as he began to ponder the possibilities of how things were to be in the future - stable, easier, more convenient, and something _new_ to toy with.

“I mean,” Eddy reached into his own pocket for a small ballpoint pen, “I’d be down for a cup of coffee or two. It’s been quite a night.”

He signed the paper without a second thought and slipped it over to Brett, leaning over the armrest of the chair and resting his head on a slender hand. His feet tapped against the ground - gentle, light tapping, no longer out of _nervous_ habit, but still something that was out of control - as he watched Brett put the paper into yet another folder; it was then that he was also able to take a better look at just how many papers there were in there, leaving him balking at the realization that this wasn’t a small side-errand that he had been running these past years.

“How many people are in this?” He tilted his head, eyes widened. “How many people do you assist, and how do you even manage it?”

“Like I said, 95% of all killers are registered here. Also all clients who are safe, but that is always a tight gamble, you know it yourself. And the clients vary more than the killers.” Brett snickered at that. Yes, it was always a game with their “guests” but so far nothing big has happened. And Brett would like to keep it that way. “And seeing that I am no longer participating on the field, I have much more time on hand than ever before.”

He threw him a _look_ over the rim of his glasses.

“How are you coming along by the way? I heard you had taken up my advice and learned from someone? I hope Mr. Hitoroshi was good to you? If you want, we can catch up here or do you want to go outside and wander around. I might not help with that, but I have lovely assistants who are more than eager to show you everything.”

After the paperwork was finished and the email sent, there was nothing more to do for Brett. 

“Huh.” Eddy was still in his own little daze as he tried to consider the numbers and the sheer amount of management that Brett had to be handling. He almost laughed at how unfair it was that one person would be given so many abilities ranging from killing to insane organization. “That’s impressive, still - I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been.”

He nearly jumped at the odd change of pacing from business talks to more casual conversation, a recall to their first meeting when he jokingly called Brett a metronome in his own frazzled head. Eddy wouldn’t have said it out loud now _or_ back then; some thoughts were better kept to himself. 

“Why don’t we catch up a little?” He shrugged, leaning his arms on Brett’s wooden table. “Mr. Hitoroshi was a pleasure to learn from - exceptionally detail-oriented, he was, and also exceptionally good at catching anyone’s bullshit. But you more than definitely know who he is: so what about you? Anyone interesting you’ve seen around the café? Any exciting young killers who’ll grow up to-” he gasped, “-overtake you?”

Brett shook his head, smiling.

“No one could overtake me. Not now, not ever. Several stupid younglings tried it, they had forgotten how feared I once was. Now their successors come to me to beg for more strawberry shortcake and coffee. They lovingly call me “Uncle” now. How depressing. I’m not even 35 and already called an uncle. Can you believe it?

Ah yes, Yunihiko Hitoroshi, a very talented young man in the prime of his years. That man was always too deep into details, even as he learned. But he got the job done, always perfect. He was a good choice. I bet he didn’t make you beg for it either?”

At that the smile widened. Yes, he had not forgotten.

“Are you still as easy to rile up, _dear_? If I remember correctly you were quite hot and bothered up until the point I was teaching you a nifty little knife trick. Sadly now I am more of an empty shell of the man I once was. And looking up is a hassle, believe me.”

Sometimes Brett felt the hot skin underneath his hands, but that was a long time ago; a whole lifetime for him. That day, when he turned his back to his partner and was literally stabbed in the back, ended the life he thought he was going to live for the rest of his existence on earth. His career - gone. His ambitions - dead. All his training - useless. The pain he had to go through to get to this point - wasted. All the all-nighters he pulled - in vain.

Oh yes, he let the other man pay for it dearly. The only time he got really messy and enjoyed bringing mindless pain for _hours_ \- while crawling on the floor. He took his time with his ex-partner. But that was gone now, only a slight blemish on his perfectly executed records. He came back, rose to the top - where he always wanted to be. Just in a different manner.

But so far it was worth it.

“Uncle?” Eddy furrowed a brow, attempting to stifle a snort at the mere thought of a bunch of adults calling Brett _Uncle Yang_. “Get you a worn-out hat and the type of button-down shirt every Asian uncle has, and you’ll remind me of my old family.”

Like other killers out there, Eddy had opted to sever all ties with anyone and everyone he knew the second he stepped into the field; he had wiped everything, picking up _Edward Chen_ in exchange for the whatever forgotten name his parents had given him, shifting himself into someone so distinct from the sniffling child he was years ago. It didn’t mean that he had forgotten about them completely; occasionally, they still reigned in the back of his head, but he knew that it was best to simply repress the thoughts and move on.

_He’s a metronome. He’s a metronome. He’s a metro-_

And Eddy supposed he was one too, with how quickly his cheeks began to flush a light pink at the reminder. That was something he couldn’t forget: the memory of sticky sweat in the club; the memory of people crowded around them, oblivious to the panic rolling off of Eddy’s skin; the memory of hitched breaths as Eddy struggled to figure out his own words. He was now glued to his seat, lost in the train of his own thoughts: setting aside the killing and all, they were only two reminiscing men in the midst of a complicated field.

Despite the fact that establishing any connections with other killers was something that Eddy had been advised against, he couldn’t help feeling some form of disappointment at Brett’s mention of the _empty shell_ \- was it guilt? Eddy didn’t know _._ “No begging. None whatsoever, thank god. But was… you know, the attempt, bad enough to put you in the chair permanently? Any chance you’ll be able to start walking around and hopefully not need to look up as much? Just doesn’t feel fair to have so many other people out there, and talent stuck in a wheelchair.”

“Well, do you remember what I said about five centimeters with a sharp blade? That happened to me. He was dumb though; he thought I was harmless. But I am not. You would have been proud, _my dear_. I was messy. Messy like I was never before. It took hours for me to finish and him to finally die. This time I revelled in the screams and shouts. Never before, never after. But anyway.”

He came around the desk with his chair, wheeling himself silently to Eddy’s side. 

“Also, I’m the hot uncle everyone wants to date but can’t. Well, for obvious reasons. Still can fuck though, at least the bastdard left me that. Getting sucked still feels the same, but moving is a bit tricky.”

He took Eddy’s hand and studied it; turning it in and out, left and right, tracing the callouses and indents, the scars and patches of soft skin.

“I see you still work a lot with knives, but you are getting better. More precise. Cleaner. Not less bloody, but that was never a problem.” 

_Ah._ Eddy knew from their previous encounter that Brett had once been “messy” before, but a part of him still struggled to imagine it. Someone, infamous for being silent and quick with their kills, taking their time and demolishing a victim? He furrowed a brow at the thought. Completely lost in his attempt to picture the scene, he nearly jumped once Brett began to prod at his hand. 

Brett looked up - even when both were sitting Eddy was still taller than him. He placed his thumb over the back of the hand and caressed it. Nothing escaped Eddy’s mouth as he watched Brett have full reign over his hand: Eddy could feel Brett’s fingers tracing the patches of peeling calluses amongst smooth skin; and soon after, he could feel the warmth of Brett’s skin as he began to gently apply pressure to Eddy’s hand. The memories were all still there, coming back faster than before - Eddy could recall, without a single moment of hesitation, Brett pressed up right against him, his tongue tracing a reddened ear-

“And I see, still getting as easily aroused as ever. You really should book a room and a whore. You are way too pent up. And yes, I can see that.”

Eddy could more than definitely feel it through the tightness in his pants and the heat burning a hole in his cheeks. He was unsure what was causing the blush that painted his face red — his arousal or his mortification at the fact that Brett had picked up on his arousal. Some things never changed. However, Eddy had hoped that maybe his ability to be easily flustered would have dissipated by now. 

He cleared his throat, sliding his hand out of Brett’s hold. “I, uh, I’ll consider it. Might consider exploring your amenities here first, before I… I visit the brothel, I guess.” His cheeks were still red. Eddy needed the burning to stop. He needed to move on to other topics before things continued to go downhill. “Any recommendations? Your favorite place to stop by, maybe?”

“I like getting sucked more that a fuck, but to each their own. My assistant - Jordon He - likes to help me out. Men know what men like and he is very skilled at it.”

Brett lifted his arm and traced the hot, red ear, grinning at reponse he was getting from the younger.

“Have you ever been at mercy? On a bed, naked. Bound, gagged and not knowing what's to come? If you said yes two years ago I could have trained you and then _played_ with you.

All day long. And then some more. Until you beg me for it. I would have rewarded you so good.”

Brett composed himself and put the hand back to his lap, but not after grazing over Eddy’s cheekbone which was still painted in beautiful red. The seductive smile was gone and replaced with a far more business-like smile. This was all a game to him and Eddy played so easily in his hands.

“But anyway, that is in the past. Do you prefer men or women? Then I can give you a recommendation.”

The hairs on Eddy’s arms began to stand; a shiver travelled down his spine at the sound of Brett’s low baritone in his ear. 

_Things had gone downhill, so soon._

Whatever Eddy had done before to try and push everything impure out of his own mind had clearly failed on him. He wasn’t sure if he was pushing the boundaries of his own body with all of the blood rushing to his cheeks - was it even possible to grow more red?

At the thought of him begging, his entire body being under Brett’s control, he answered his own question: yes, it was. More than definitely. And suddenly Eddy couldn’t quite look Brett right in the eyes, couldn’t quite hear anything except for the panicked and confused screaming in his head. At some point, he had even given up completely on trying to collect himself, instead opting to lounge around and embarrass himself in front of someone he wanted to prove himself to - even if he wasn’t going to acknowledge it outright.

Eddy had grown since two years ago. He had made a name for himself in the field. The second he left his mentor and received a job back in Australia, he made it his goal to revoke the disaster of a reputation he had established back at that bar and prove that maybe - just maybe - this time around, he could have the potential to be a legend. 

But here he was instead, the same flustered child as before.

“I mean, I don’t,” Eddy gaped for a second, blinking at the question, “I’m fine with either. I’ve never had a preference in the first place.”

“Ah okay. Well, that’s easy then,” the _glint_ in his eyes returned, ”Do you like to give or receive?”

Brett took the opportunity and snatched Eddy’s hand in his again. A hand could tell so many stories, especially if one knew what to look out for. The small hints, the tiny details; they all told a story. A story Brett wanted to listen to, to explore it’s depths and to understand and hear everything. He gently pulled at the hand before leaning forward to press a kiss on the inside of Eddy’s palm. His only objective was not only doing it to fluster Eddy more although that had it’s charm as well. Instead he was testing the temperature, the hardening of the calluses, _feeling_ the quickened pulse and a lot more with it. The lips were after all the most precise and sensitive part of the human body - sexual organs notwithstanding.

Now just for fun he turned the hand and pressed a kiss on the back of Eddy’s hand, pinning the man with a gaze though his long lashes

“I, uh,” Eddy was doing his best to ignore Brett’s lips fluttering against his skin; the poor man didn’t understand what exactly he was doing, attributing it to the same intentions that he assumed Brett held in the bar, “I don’t care either way, but I guess I’m in the mood for receiving. It’s… It’s been a long while.”

Then came another question - did Brett do this with _every_ single one of the killers? Eddy wouldn’t have judged - he, frankly, didn’t care - but it was still something that prodded at his curiosity. But he tossed that question aside: there was a different matter at hand, and it was Brett’s lips skimming the tips of his fingers. There was nothing Eddy could hide now: the slight tremor in his hand was more than present, and his feet continued to tap away now _because_ he was beyond panicked.

“Receiving, huh? Interesting.” He pressed his lips against the hardened fingertips, looking at the flushed hitman through half lidded eyes. In his mind, he always pictured Eddy as the receiving one, but to hear it was really exciting. 

“Too bad I don’t do it with hitmen anymore.”

He once again pressed a kiss on the hand before retreating. He leant back in his chair with ease, and eyed-up Eddy; the tent was not really well hidden even if the man was completely in black. 

“What a shame. Otherwise we could have had fun. But anyway, if you like receiving, go to ‘Harries Harpoon’. It’s only 200 metres away from here and their premises are clean. They don’t work with us - most of your colleagues prefer women - but they are very accommodating and affordable. The boys can shut their mouths and be silent. A rare feature indeed.”

“That’s, um,” Eddy nodded to himself, “that’s good to know. Thank you for the recommendation.” Was he going to disregard the fact that Brett had considered sleeping with him for a second? Absolutely. The sentence was left to exit right through the other ear, but the kiss on his twitching skin remained untouched. 

Maybe he would drop by there tomorrow. Tonight seemed like a good night to take a breather. Eddy’s post-mission celebration usually involved crashing on his bed and giving himself the opportunity to rest - maybe a drink if he felt like it, sometimes a movie or two. His mouth still parched and his eyes still avoiding Brett’s - the walls were fun to study, Eddy thought - he cleared his throat and sat up. “I was going to relax tonight, maybe pick up a cup of coffee or something. It’s, uh, your own café, but do you want anything?”

“Oh yes. You, on your knees in front of me. But if you’d like, you can go to Julian and ask for a cup of coffee - on the house of course. Will you crash here or did you check into a hotel?”

Brett was as calm as one could be, as if the words didn’t just leave his mouth or as if it wouldn’t affect him at all. Brett’s poker face was perfect. It took him years to get to that point and it was worth every second. 

Eddy was a sputtering, blabbing, blushing mess. It was a sight to behold. He would look so damn pretty on his knees, mouth agape and stuffed with Brett, but that would probably never happen. Not to his satisfaction anymore. So Brett disregarded that train of thought. It was better to do that, otherwise it could become a problem between them. Well, if Eddy ever got out of the virgin stupor he was in right now.

However, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon, if at all: Eddy’s eyes were widened and glazed, as if he was in an odd combination of his worst nightmare and wildest dream. He swallowed - it was time to do what Eddy was comfortable with, ignoring bits and pieces of Brett’s speech, pretending as if _nothing_ was ever said by him except for the information he needed - and pressed on with a nervous chuckle.

“I’ll do that in a second, but I can pay for it myself. I don’t imagine any of this is cheap.” He stood, a faint crack from his shoulders ricocheting across the room; the night was only growing later by the second, and the post-adrenaline crash was settling in. “I have a hotel room already, but if things are alright, I might just consider driving home a little sooner than tomorrow. Anyways, I’ll email you back the documents, and I’ll drop by whenever I can, hm? Unless there’s anything else I’m missing?”

“The first coffee is always on the house, don’t worry about it. Also the contract will state that you seek me out first when you need a job, please remember that. The rest are in the documents. Please take your time and read through it all. Other than that, if you don’t have any questions, then you can go.”

Brett wheeled himself to the door and to open it.

“Have a nice night, Edward.”

“You too, Brett.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 3 ENDS!!!!  
> WUHUUU!!!!
> 
> So, as I stated before:  
> If you liked it, please comment & Kudo. Authors need that to see if you liked it and want more or not. A kudo doesnt hurt and a small comment either D: so please?  
> If you wanna more, you know what to do :D


	4. Act 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* 4th chapter.  
> Some surprises awaits you. Have fun with it :D

**Chapter 4 Act 3  
**

  
  


_**Please be reminded that there are triggers as blood, gore etc. in this story (and chapter). Don't like, don't read.** _

Eddy’s most enjoyable marks were the ones that were killers, too - he used to despise them with a passion until he realized that there was some merit to challenging himself. It was always more fun to hunt someone who knew the tricks of the trade than some civilian who couldn’t defend themselves no matter how hard they tried; it was _then_ that the thrill was heightened because these marks felt more like games than they did anything else: a game of strategy that required immense planning and consideration.

With these, he continued to take his time. Hitoroshi, if anything, taught him to be hyper-aware of the details - so why not utilize it to his advantage? Eddy was going to leave details behind and see if anyone picked up on them, a _test_ as to whether or not they deserved to live - puzzle pieces falling into their rightful place as Eddy traversed the second movement of the symphony; little threats, clues, and _information_ being dropped at every corner as the slow swell of music grew louder, as Eddy swirled around his target, waiting for the paranoia to strike, for a good moment to constrict, for the perfect time to begin the next act.

But playing games meant bigger risks, and growing careless with _any_ aspect of the kill was dangerous. Eddy hadn’t expected this absolute beginner to resist and _succeed_ in landing a hit right on his arm - that was a careless move, a precaution he should have taken. If he was still with a mentor, he would have been demolished for the slip-up; but considering he was entirely alone in the middle of Australia, with crimson dribbling down his arm and a warm corpse still left on the ground, the only person that could tear Eddy apart was himself.

Well, and one more person, he’d imagine.

He stifled a sigh, tossing his sweater off and hastily wrapping his arm, before beginning to clean everything up; everything moved quickly in Eddy’s eyes as the cut in his arm flared - it wasn’t _that_ deep, he hoped - and soon, he found himself parking his car right in front of the now-familiar café.

The warm lights greeted Eddy as soon as he stepped in, along with the delicacies of the wind chimes - Eddy had grown close enough to some of the other patrons that they had begun to exchange quick nods as greetings, but to assume that he cared about any of them was a joke. Right now, he was only looking for-

“Hey Brett.” He made his way over to the wheelchair, resting his good arm on the handle. “Everything’s done. But would you mind reminding me where the medic would be?”

Brett was beside the counter, checking his phone - and _the_ app - when Eddy came straight to him. Well, not really straight; the younger man stumbled quite a few times before he finally reached him.

“How about you go upstairs in one of the rooms, lovely, and I will send the doc to your room? I think that is a perfect solution to the problem here.”

He waved to his assistant - Jordon - to help Eddy with his _problem because_ he had absolutely no intention to let the whole café drench in blood. His assistant rushed over with a towel in hand, wrapping it quickly and securely around the wound.

“Please Mr. Chen, sir, this way. I will show you to one of the rooms.”

Brett just shook his head. Why was Eddy wounded _again_? Wasn’t the man supposed to be a professional killer? He had to talk with him about that. That and his tendencies to come through the front door when injured. He should use the backdoor - quite literally sometimes. 

The man in the wheelchair sighed and finished up working in the app before wheeling himself to the elevators so he could get into the higher floors. It was nasty and he hated it. But being thrown over the shoulders like a sack of potatoes and hauled up was something he hated more, so the elevator it was.

It took him some time to meet with the doctor. He sent the old doc on his way to Eddy, trailing him. He wanted to make sure Eddy was fine. 

They knocked on the door and stepped - or wheeled - in.

Eddy sat on the bed, waiting. A small, shy smile crept up on his face as Brett clicked the door shut behind him. “At this rate,” an odd chuckle, “I should just start dragging a doctor around on every mission I go on. Sorry again, doc.”

If there was anything that Eddy was grateful for, it was how quickly everyone here worked - everything moved at its own rapid-fire pace with no time to take a breather; a pace that he quite enjoyed after working with it for a few years. It only took a few minutes for the bloodied towel to be exchanged with a layer of fresh bandages and lingering pain, and the doctor was soon out, leaving Eddy and Brett alone in the pristine hotel room.

There was no denying the displeasure in the stare that Brett was giving Eddy; not that Eddy didn’t understand why, considering the fact that he had shown up needing some medical help a few too many times already. But there was no need to address that just yet - Eddy was growing to be skilled at pretending some things didn’t exist - and he decided to opt for a raised eyebrow.

“I think I forgot to update the app about the mark.” He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, watching it illuminate a bright shade of white and blue the second he pressed the buttons. “Let me just do that quickly before we discuss anything.”

“I already did that for you, as always, when you come in with an injury. Which is too often, Eddy. You had 20 jobs I assigned you to, you came back injured 16 of it. I thought you were a professional, not a slaughter pig who had luck surviving. 

I will put you on hold for 10 days for the wound to heal. No other missions in the meantime. Get yourself together, man. This is not a playground, this is work. Or should I make my promise true and _retrain_ you? Because from what I observe, another round of training would do you good.”

To say he was displeased was a huge understatement. He gave Eddy a simple job. The man completed it, yes, always came back injured and this would just not do. He sighed, feeling exhausted.

“I will send you a new change of clothes and leave you to have your much needed rest. If I see you in the training room I will bound you to the bed, I promise.”

Eddy frowned. There really was no excuse for this type of behavior. Hell, he even acknowledged it when he was heading back to the café. It was an amateur move to keep making mistakes, even if they were tiny, because any mistake was still _that_ \- a mistake.

There was also absolutely no way he would even consider arguing against Brett about the hold: he had once attempted to hold an argument with his mentor, and he remembered _exactly_ how that went down. No, thank you, Eddy preferred to hold his tongue and keep pushing forward; so he only continued to simmer in silence, nodding slightly at the words that continued to spill out of Brett’s mouth.

“Sounds good.” Even in the aura of disappointment and tension that lingered in the air, Eddy mustered the ability to bring up a slight, cocky smirk on his face. “I’ll do better next time, then. _Actually_ stop being careless and I won’t need to be retrained - consider it my promise to you.”

"I don't need your promise, Eddy, I need _results_ . I need not only a dead body but also an unhurt and uninjured agent who I can send out the next day for another mission. If you cannot give me that because you are lacking at the fucking _basics_ , then I will send you to the beginner camp for real, and you will finish it."

Displeasure was heavy in the room and Brett was not smiling anymore, oh no. He was simmering with anger but the only thing hinting at it were his voice, sharp and like steel, and his eyes. They were ablazed with anger, burning into Eddy's. 

"Now sleep and get healed up before I decide to make good on my promise and shackle you to the bed." 

Eddy sank into the mattress. Despite the strange little smiles he was giving and the carefree attitude he put up, frustration still burned through his blood; frustration that Brett was correct - injuries were a beginner move. And Eddy _knew_ that he was better than that, and that to start off on the wrong foot under someone he still held immense respect for was an absolutely terrible move. 

He could do better; _he could do better_. What came first was the need to figure out what exactly he did wrong, where he messed up - at what point was he careless, and at what point did he miss a crucial detail, leading to his injury? Maybe the thought would be left for later that night, when Eddy realized that he wouldn’t be able to sleep because of the faint throb in his arm and his own mind, but now was the time to address Brett first.

“You’ll get your results.” Eddy hummed. “Good night, Brett.”

“I really hope so Eddy.” Brett eyed the man with a grim expression. He left the room after that; there was nothing he could have added. Eddy needed his sleep anyway.

  
  


Day two was when Eddy was beginning to grow restless from the mandatory rest period that he had been assigned - in a majority of his other injury breaks, it was usually always around this day that Eddy and his killer instinct couldn’t stop fidgeting, and Eddy had usually managed to suppress it by taking his time to sharpen knives. But, _damn_ , restlessness combined with the disappointment simmering in his own head was only edging him toward the training room - 16 out of 20, what was that, 75% of the time injured? Eddy was never the best at math; he assumed it was somewhere around that percentage but didn’t have the energy - or time - to waste on calculating it.

Hopefully, nobody would notice, and Eddy would be able to just do a quick session: his arm was healing up rather nicely, and he was going to make sure he kept the wound in mind when training in fear of accidentally making it worse. He slipped out of the room and shut the door, glancing around before making his way down the hall.

Brett was watching on his computer in the office. If Eddy really was going to enter one of these rooms, hell would break loose. He set the rest not because it was funny or anything; he was not punishing Eddy by it. The man _needed_ the rest; his body needed it. He just sighed and watched Eddy. There would be a confrontation, that was inevitable; and Brett would shackle the boy and whip his ass while remaining calm and collected. He would _utterly destroy_ Eddy if that man would go into a training room and do what he was warned - _forbidden_ \- not to do; and he could do all that while still being in a wheelchair.

Eddy, entirely unaware that Brett was even watching, kept making his way to the training rooms - he turned into the brightly-lit hallway, stepping into an unclaimed room and slamming the door shut behind him. He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that was beginning to edge into his arm again: there were other matters at hand, and Eddy’s priority was refining his own actions to avoid another situation like this next time. No more mistakes, nothing careless, Eddy was going to make sure he was in perfect shape the second his temporary suspension was over.

He stepped into the center of the room, picking up one of the knives designated for training - a little heavier than what he was used to, but it was good practice. He continued to be unaware of the fact that the camera in the corner of the room was picking up on _everything_ he was doing, unaware that every move he made was being transmitted to an office downstairs; he was unaware, even when he decided to leave after a good hour or two of training, that confrontation was to come eventually.

Checking the hallway once again before walking - the last thing he wanted was to run into a certain wheelchair-bound man - Eddy dragged his sweaty self back to his room. He swung the door open and stepped in with a long sigh, the burn in his arm only growing.

Brett was already fuming and silently steaming when Eddy entered the room. His anger only grew when he saw evidence that proved that the _boy had the audacity to actually train_ . This meant he _purposefully_ ignored Brett’s words and orders. _And this simply wouldn’t do_. 

He would teach him a lesson. A hard and painful one; one that Eddy would never forget. 

So that was why he was already in the room, looking very calm, almost serene, when Eddy entered, dripping with sweat and face contorted in pain.

“Hello Edward. How nice of you to finally come back. May I ask you where you were?”

It was a very rhetorical question, of course Brett knew where Eddy was the whole time, but he wanted to hear what excuses or even _lies_ the boy came up with. Eddy was no man in Brett’s eyes - not anymore. Not an equal, but an insolent, feisty child who needed to be put on the right track; re-trained from the beginning and finally get some boundaries set. What was his previous mentor doing? Looking the other direction? Not caring? He wasn’t used to such sloppy work, not at all. Not from Hitoroshi or any other hitmen he had worked with on a highly professional level especially as a mentor. This was not only flabbergasting Brett, it also meant Hitoroshi was doing a very shitty job as a mentor. That led to Hitoroshi having a problem as well, or at least had a very _interesting_ conversation ahead of him. But now, Brett’s focus was on Eddy and Eddy alone,

which was never a good thing when it came to punishments and disciplinary actions. And disciplined he would be. Eddy’s answer would determine how much pain he would be in when Brett was finished. And it didn’t look peachy for him as it was. The chances of Eddy getting out of his punishment were bleak. Or simply black, yes, black was a much better colour for now. Black meant pain and suffering - a whole lot of it. And Eddy would feel the decision to disobey in every nerve of his body. Brett would not hold back, not even the tiniest bit. He had broken men before and rearranged them to his liking. They were now very successful, _if they survived_. This time around Brett would make sure Eddy would survive and be the best in his field. But that would only come after his re-training. The man could almost smell the blood coming out of Eddy, hearing his pained filled whimpers and hear his whispering pleas. Yes, he would give Eddy one last chance to redeem himself, but this was the end of the rope. No more disobeying *-to be tolerated. 

Brett interlaced his fingers and waited for Eddy’s response.

 _Ah, shit._ Eddy narrowed his eyes, staring back at Brett’s abnormally calm gaze; no matter how hard Eddy tried, he genuinely was unable to see anything in those eyes - not that he was surprised, as that was expected from any legend in the field, but mayhaps Eddy had hoped for some flicker of information as to whether or not Brett already knew of his whereabouts. 

But then again, he pondered, it was odd to have Brett in his room, asking where he had been, right? And there was nothing much that Eddy could say since he was dripping sweat over the carpet; and he looked - and _was -_ absolutely exhausted from his own exertion. There really were only three choices left for Eddy - to confess and be honest about where he was; to simply pretend as if nothing happened and lie; or to give an overly vague truth. 

If there was anything Eddy was good at, it was the latter. “I was doing what I thought was best. Why do you ask?”

“You did what you thought was the best. Interesting wording, I have to say. And now, what did you do? I mean, for real this time. Because you look like you are in pain.”

And he would look that way even more. Brett was ready to pounce on the man. He would rip him apart and he was still not sure if he meant that metaphorical or literally. If he was being served even more shit, then he leant more towards literally. But that was up to Eddy.

His eyes wandered over the sweat spots all over Eddy’s shirt and the droplets running over his forehead. Yes, _oh yes_ , he would enjoy every minute of it.

Eddy raised an eyebrow; they were definitely edging toward Eddy confessing exactly where he was. And to say that Eddy _looked_ as if he was in pain felt like somewhat of an understatement - with the bandage around his arm now soaked in sweat, and the thrill of training and being back with knives getting to Eddy, his arm had decided to flare and give up on him. 

“I’m certain you already know,” this was a risk, this was _such_ a terrible idea, and Eddy wasn’t quite sure why he was going along with avoiding honesty, “so why don’t you tell me?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I was sending you a couple of messages, asking if you were up to a coffee in the last hour and you usually respond right away when you are in one of the rooms. So I was curious as to what you are up to and decided to visit you. But seeing you like this is quite concerning.” Brett did indeed shoot him a message once or twice, but Eddy didn’t have his phone with him anyway and Brett knew that. “I am wondering if you disobeyed my and the doctor’s orders or if that is only water, not sweat, you know. I would be sorely disappointed if that were the case. You know I am fond of you and I hope you know I only want the best for you when I give you an order.”

It wasn’t raining. To say it was water would be marked as bullshit by anyone who had the time to look out the window; and considering the lack of the scent of chlorine on Eddy’s skin, as well as the fact that he still had an open wound, he couldn’t quite say that he decided to jump into a pool either.

Maybe there was no way out of this; the conversation only continued as the tension in the room grew to tremble in the air. 

Eddy took a short breath. “Let the disappointment settle. Training room, first one on the left downstairs.”

“This is my café. My bookstore. My hotel. My clinic. When I order something, it is to be followed. You know that very well by now. Have you ever seen a person acting against my orders in my playground? No. That has a very good reason, Edward. I am the law here. Because if I wasn’t, hitmen would kill each other the very second they see each other, or have a mark upon their head. But, as you can see, that is not happening.”

Brett calmly wheeled to Eddy, extending his hand, palms up. It was a silent order to take it. 

“I just want you to understand why I do things the way I do. You disobeyed me. You deliberately disobeyed me. My orders were very clear, or was anything about _‘If I see you in the training room I will bound you to the bed’_ unclear?”

When Eddy’s hand twitched Brett took it gently and held onto it. It was Eddy’s injured arm.

“And now you have gone to a training room, only two days later after the initial order. Care to explain why?”

Eddy flinched the second he felt Brett take his hand - both because of the cut shifting against the bandage, and at anticipation that the situation was ready to spin downhill. The anticipation was arguably worse: a slow bundle of nerves and anxiety, slowly tearing Eddy apart from the inside-out as it took command of his actions, his control. 

“I already said it.” It was remarkable how his voice managed to be steady. “I thought it was best.”

“Hm, I see.” Brett was pulling the hand gently towards him, starting to unwrap the sweaty and bloody bandage. He let the binding fall to the floor, not minding the blood seeping into the carpet. The room would need a once-over after he was finished with Eddy anyway.

He checked one last time if Eddy showed any remorse - no - and then he put his plan into action. Brett started by pressing his fingers into the wound, tearing into it, forcing the blood to rush down. It must hurt like hell for Eddy. Before the boy could do anything against it, Brett pushed harder - his finger still in the wound - and backhanded Eddy with as much force as he could muster. The pain that shot through Eddy’s arm sent a flash of white through his eyes at how _sudden_ it was; it jerked a gargled yell out of him, ripped it right out of his throat, and knocked all the air out of his system. He stumbled forward and onto the ground, his knees slamming against the carpet. Everything around him felt like a blur in full, vivid color - Eddy could see every last detail and yet, none of it at all the second he felt the sharp, lingering sting on his cheek; his gut twisted at the feeling of blood - a thick ruby, gleaming against his bare skin - trickling down his arm and face as his nose began to gush. 

Eddy would be lucky if Brett didn’t break his cheekbone or nose. In a swift movement Brett grabbed Eddy’s neck and choked him, completely calm about the whole ordeal.

His initial instinct was to fight back: his other arm jerked up in immediate response, aiming for Brett, only to be interrupted by a thumb pressing against his throat. He squirmed under the light hold, only to be stopped by Brett’s finger continuing to prod its way into his open wound, sending more crimson drops onto the carpet and another scream out of his core. Instinct continued to settle along with the adrenaline rush, and Eddy found himself in a futile attempt to drag Brett’s hand off his neck by using whatever force he could muster in his good arm. Brett wasn’t constricting Eddy’s movements at the moment, but he could only imagine it was coming soon - he wouldn’t hold it against Brett after the throbbing in his cheeks and the intense flare on his arm. 

“Now we will re-train you, boy.”

Eddy shot a darkened glare at Brett; his jaw was burning as he managed to grumble out, “Shut up and do it, then.”

“I will. And I swear, you will not like it one bit.”

He pressed harder on the larynx, cutting off Eddy’s air supply. When the younger man tried to free himself, Brett switched tactics quite fast. He jerked the arm again, and Eddy bellowed yet another scream, each one only growing exponentially louder. The pain - from his face, his arm, and now the pressure on his neck - combined with the adrenaline pulsing through his limbs only left him quivering helplessly against the ground. 

Using the moment of the stunned, pain ridden hitman, Brett flung himself out of the wheelchair, pressing his body on top of Eddy’s. He now had enough leverage to press on the air supply, cutting it off completely. Now he just needed to wait until Eddy was unconscious. Of course the boy would not go down without a fight, so Brett used dirty tactics. He was pretty sure Eddy had no idea what was coming his way; fully panicked because of the lack of oxygen so he released the arm to quickly smear the blood over the shirt and grab a knife from his back. It was a small pocket knife, cute but very sharp and deadly. He rammed it into Eddy’s thigh. 

Eddy’s head slammed against the ground, his scalp running against the carpet; his jaw dropped open, nothing but a strangled groan crawling out of his mouth thanks to the clasp on his throat. He tried - even if his mind had accepted that there was no point, the twitch in his muscles suggested otherwise - to keep shoving Brett off using whatever means possible as the pain in his thigh stretched across every last inch of his body: his other knee moved to push Brett off as the lack of oxygen began to settle into his head. 

Brett ripped the blade from Eddy’s thigh to grab onto the injured, now deeply red arm again. If the pain would not make Eddy faint, the lack of oxygen would. The retired hitman already saw the rolling of Eddy’s eyes back into his head, so it would not take long for him to lose consciousness. Once Eddy’s eyes have fluttered close, Brett would start counting to not accidentally kill Eddy.

Everything was a blur in Eddy’s eyes - Brett’s calm, heedy gaze; the lights of the room; the strands of hair blown across his face. There was absolutely nothing he could hear besides his own pounding heartbeat and the waves in his head, as the world around him began to dim and take its leave. 

Finally the body underneath Brett was still.

“Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six. And good night Eddy.”

Brett eased the pressure and took his hand away. Eddy was fully out of it. Great, now he had a lot of work to do.

But before that he laid his head on Eddy’s chest to check for the younger’s heartbeat and to get some rest as well. He wouldn’t go that far to say this hurt him as much as it did Eddy - no way - but it still stung. After he gathered his breath he turned around to his wheelchair, got in and grabbed his phone to call for some help. He would definitely need it.

  
  


____

  
  


Eddy was stripped off his clothes and transferred to the basement. He was set down against a wall, with shackles holding his arm above his head and his feet on the ground. In the past, which seemed like a lifetime ago when Brett could still stand and _walk,_ he shackled his trainees standing. This was no longer an option because Brett couldn't reach that far up, so he brought his _trainees_ down to his level.

The wound on Eddy’s arm was cared for, restitchted and redressed. The wound on his thigh was disinfected before it was secured with a tight wrap. The cell had nothing but a low table in it, the _trainee_ , and of course, Brett, but he was not inventory. On the table was a water bottle, a clock and several little tools that Brett called his ‘helpers’. 

Now he just needed to wait for Eddy to wake up. It shouldn’t take long. 

Eddy’s eyes began to flutter open a few short minutes after. There was a visible haze in them, a confusion as to where he was followed by a moment of recognition and panic the second his eyes landed on Brett. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling - the most recognizable out of the cluster of emotions settling in his gut just so happened to be pain from too many places at once, followed by other muses vying for control over Eddy’s head: fear, anger, frustration, and more as he slowly recalled exactly what happened. 

His cheek was entirely swollen from the hit, but it was manageable and at least gave Eddy a chance to speak: “Where are we?” he mumbled, still half-dazed. 

“In the basement, my dear. You will love and hate this place when we are finished. But first things first: Are you thirsty?”

Eddy was entirely harmless to him - bound to the wall by shackles that heavily restricted movements - so Brett had no qualms in grabbing the water bottle, setting the clock and wheeling himself to Eddy. He opened the bottle and took a sip. 

“I hope you are not too hurt. We had to forego the pain medication because really, it’s pretty much useless right now. I have planned something for you, my babyboo. Something you should have gone through two years earlier.”

Eddy’s mouth was parched. He stared at Brett drinking away at the bottle - truly beginning to wake up and snap out of his stupor once he processed the soreness in his wrists, and caught a gleam of metal on the table behind Brett; it took some even more time to remember bits and pieces of his words that had slipped through Eddy’s screaming and white noise yesterday, and Eddy found himself blinking as panic began to overtake the pain. 

“Something,” he echoed, the words hollow in his own mouth. A second of hesitation, plenty of confusion as he struggled to find his next words: “And what exactly is that something?”

“We talked about that, my babyboo. Now, are you thirsty? Answer the question.”

Eddy balked. He remembered what Brett had said yesterday (and also his own snarky reply, but maybe that was best forgotten): _retraining_. Whatever that meant exactly, but Eddy disliked the odd connotations it was beginning to give him, especially considering the gaze that Brett held. 

Brett was again the calm and collected person Eddy knew him to be. Not a spec of dirt on his clothes - he still had the habit of dressing in a black dress shirt and a blazer as well as some matching pants and black shiny shoes like he did in his active years. It was a form of commitment and a reminder of what he had lost. It also instilled fear in the younger men and women he met. And of course Brett simply liked the all black aesthetic. 

He eyed Eddy, who was only clad in his boxer shorts on purpose. It showed the power dynamics between them - Brett fully clothed and Eddy in nothing but his skin and a tiny piece of cloth that covered his many jewels. Most of the time he had his trainees naked, but that would have been too harsh for poor, sensitive Eddy. However, if Brett’s amiability was thrown in his face again like the last time, he would handle Eddy like he would any other before him. Possibly worse.

Eddy swallowed as his eyes darted back to the table - calmness was the exact opposite of what Eddy was feeling at the moment. he did a gentle tug against the shackles to check on how sturdy the material was; further pushing the realization that there was absolutely no way this was a joke, that this was entirely _real_. Eddy moved his gaze back to Brett. The retired hitman held his head high, his posture more regal than any royal Eddy has encountered. 

His attention flipped between the table and the bottle of water in Brett’s hand; his mouth was growing drier by the second. “I,” he paused, “yes, I am.”

Brett purposefully took another sip from it before moving even closer. He gave Eddy a once over again - just to play for time - and then shrugged his shoulders before playing nice and holding the bottle to Eddy’s lips.

“This is the only free drink you will get. Anything else will come with a price. So cherish it. Make it _count_.”

Eddy did: he let the cold travel down his throat, the water trickling into every last crevice of his dried mouth. He moved to take large gulps of the water, each gulp leading to an absolute mess across his face, water dripping down the sides of his jaw and mouth. 

The hitman started the retraining. It was not going to be easy. It was going to be long and arduous, not only because he had a soft spot for the younger man but also because Eddy was headstrong. Headstrong people were fun to retrain, but only to a certain extent. He didn’t want to crush Eddy completely, just a few adjustments here and there, but that meant he had to be even more careful and at the same time forceful.

After he took away the bottle - he gave Eddy a generous sip - he closed the lid and screwed the cap close. And then the alarm rang, brutally loud and annoying; Brett watched as Eddy jumped at the shrill sound of the bell. The wheelchair-bound man wheeled back, setting the bottle on the low table and turned off the alarm before setting a new one.

“Our time is up. We will see each other when the alarm rings again. I command you not to sleep until I come back. That’s easy, right? A very easy rule and order to follow.”

Of course he didn’t mention it was impossible at the current state of things. Brett straightened his glasses and smiled at Eddy.

“Until then, _trainee_.”

He left the room without further ado, closing the door behind him, not bothering to lock Eddy in. It was not necessary anyway; Eddy would never get out of the shackles. No one ever did, and that record will certainly not be ended by Eddy. Brett doubted the man ever had training to get out of those anyway.

Eddy waited for the door to close before mumbling a bitter “farewell” - the remaining droplets of water contributed to the sudden chill across Eddy’s chin, as the cold liquid continued to dribble down, but Eddy’s arms were immobile, leaving him to make _more_ of a mess as he attempted to wipe his face on his arm. Maybe it didn’t matter anyways; water dried quickly, after all, and Eddy blinked at the forgetfulness involving common sense that flashed across his mind.

He frowned, surveying the room once again: everything was pristine, impeccable, from the concrete walls to the pillars that were holding everything up; there was not a single chip missing anywhere. Eddy’s eyes continued to skim for details hoping to see some sign of imperfection only for too much time to pass and for Eddy’s eyes to start growing heavy. 

_I command you not to sleep._

Eddy tried; he genuinely did, forcing himself to wake up by pulling his wrists against the shackles and letting the metal dig into his tender skin. But eventually, the combination of injuries and the silence in the room led him to surrender to darkness. Eddy found himself asleep in no time. 

Brett had installed a camera in the room - of course he did. And of course not only one, but five, to see everything from every corner and to recheck the visuals after a session. Brett watched as Eddy lost the fight against sleep. A quick glance on the clock told him it had been four hours; four hours of being kept in a blank room, no visuals whatsoever to keep his mind occupied. Brett expected more from a trained killer. Much more. His first was eight hours nonstop, while bleeding and dosed full of pain medication so that the pain didn’t keep him awake. And he was fifteen at that time - his endurance only grew from that point. If it would have been two years prior, Brett would have sauntered in, smashed the door against the wall, creating a lot of noise. But he couldn’t do that anymore, so he opted for the more fear inducing method: silence.

Brett was brought into the room, his assistant opening the door silently. He rolled in, parking his chair right in front of Eddy. He had a knife and a whip on his lap, both cleaned and ready to use. 

The retired hitman set the timer and waited. What else was more dangerous than someone sneaking up on his prey without them knowing until it was too late? 

As he saw the first signs of Eddy rising to awakeness once more, he was silently typing on his phone, giving orders and working - like he had all the time in the world. He would let Eddy come to his senses and conclusions. Then he would train him again. He was still unsure if he needed and wanted to break him or not. 

Well, he had a lot of time on hand to come to a decision. Maybe he should ask Eddy as well? The boy gave him the _persmission_ to retrain him after all - Brett was sure he didn’t mean it that way, but he would take it anyway.

He saw a movement out of the corners of his eye - Eddy lifted his head, looking confused around once more. The stiffening of Eddy’s body, the sharp intake of breath was a sign Eddy noticed him - well it was hard to miss him after all. He sat right in front of him.

Brett was dead silent. Eddy was trying to force the grogginess out of his own eyes as it dawned on him that he had beyond fucked up - the tranquility in Brett’s gaze and the weapons resting on his lap was enough to startle Eddy and have him be fully awake. He blinked a few times, glancing around to recall exactly where he was - basement, retraining, right?

The stillness in the room was beginning to ring in Eddy’s head; with it came so much more weight pressing against his shoulders, constricting around his chest. He swallowed. “How long have you been here for?”

“How long do you think you have been asleep, trainee? And what did I tell you not to do?”

Brett was as calm as the sea - not even moving one bit. The only thing he did was pocket his phone and give Eddy his full attention - never a good sign when one had the undisturbed attention from a killer. 

He lifted the whip and studied it, looking if the tool was in good condition; not blemished or chapped. Then he took the big, heavy cleaver and checked it as well while he was waiting for Eddy to answer.

Eddy‘s hands were starting to grow cold. “You told me not to sleep.” A brief second of hesitation, a quick little pause - the clock was turned the other way, leaving Eddy unable to see the face; he wasn’t quite sure if it was better to over or underestimate, but he was going to just pick a random number and pray. “I’ll guess four hours?”

“Then please tell me why did you sleep? Are you that incapable of following a simple rule and order? Do I really need to retrain you _from the beginning_?”

That meant Brett needed to break Eddy completely. And with that he meant every bone and resistance the boy had to offer.

There really was no good answer; Eddy knew that he was at fault, that it was entirely against orders to nod off - and part of being a successful killer was being able to fight against the body’s natural instincts to _do_ _something_. Another moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt and confusion, a second of inadequacy settling in Eddy’s gut along with a wave of disappointment, and he tilted his head back against the concrete. 

Maybe Brett was right about Eddy slipping with the basics; but he would do what he could to prove his own worth. “I suppose so.”

“Then please remember this: It wouldn’t be that painful and hard if you had come to me two years prior. I am very sorry to do this Eddy, I really am.”

With that he wheeled closer, cleaver in hand.

He pulled Eddy’s head back with his free hand and looked him in the eye: “I am really sorry, Edward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *humms*  
> uhm, yeah?  
> :D  
> WE HAD FUN OKAY?????
> 
> Please comment and kuso if you liked it, because that is the authors bread and wine and we need it to survive.  
> If we see that you like it, we will make more :D


	5. Act 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U want smexy time? U will get smexy time.
> 
> Say Hello to retrained Edward and see how wonderful they are working together now :D
> 
> As always, give us authors a bit of love as well :D

**Chapter 5 Act 4  
**

  
  


It was now six months after he retrained Eddy and so far, the hitman was doing  _ wonderfully _ . He was almost perfect now, not only in the work field but also in the more  _ private _ aspect of their relationship.

Brett was in his office when Eddy came strolling in, perfectly clean and composed after a job.

The man looked up from his laptop and smiled at Eddy.

“How did it go, Edward?”

Eddy was only for their private time now,  _ Edward _ was the killer. Brett made sure to integrate that in his retraining thoroughly. Now was work time, so no “Eddy”-time.

He had a killer in front of him, a trained,  _ loyal _ killer. 

“Was the hunt successful?”

“Better than successful.” Edward managed a crooked smile as he took his seat in front of Brett; his hands were still quivering with adrenaline. “What’s next? Is there anyone lined up for me?”

There was a glimmer in his eyes, a falsified one that had been missing prior to retraining: perhaps it could have been seen as some form of determination. But had his past self seen Eddy today, the look in his eyes would have scared younger Eddy away at its unrecognizability. 

“You know very well that after a mission you will give me your report and relax for a day, as always. You need to calm down and regroup your thoughts. So, tell me; how did you finish him off? He was my assistant, so he was very capable. It was so sad to learn he misused his position. Also he was a friend of yours, wasn’t he? How do you feel? Do you need to talk about it?”

Jordon was at Brett’s side for three years. But that changed yesterday. Brett’s heart bled when he noticed some  _ strange _ things going on around him. Killers were becoming more and more a mark, with most of them not having justified reasons. Brett started digging at that point until he reached the bottom of the problem. The mastermind was one who smiled in his face every day. So he had to be eliminated. He was hesitant to let Edward do the job at first, because what if the man couldn’t handle it? But between the sheets, Eddy convinced Brett to give him a chance and Brett did.

He should really not allow Eddy to take advantage of him in business decisions. Now, what was done was done, and Edward was in his chair - alive and well. So maybe that was not the worst decision he has made so far.

“Slow, as usual. It’s always a pleasure to tear them apart, one piece at a time.” Edward shrugged. He swiped at his nails, turning his attention on them - had he forgotten to trim them? - while ignoring the slight twist in his stomach. “Friends in the field are always temporary, aren’t they? You sever ties with them the second they’re your mark; it’s just how it is.”

Eddy  _ knew _ the mark decently well; he had occasional conversations with him. They have even prodded each other around as they cracked jokes around the café once. But knowing someone for a few months was nothing compared to Brett’s previous partnership with Jordon for three years: it unsettled Edward to take on the mission initially, until he spiraled back into his movements and symphonies and  _ indulged _ himself in the kill as his own little distraction. “How do  _ you _ feel about it? A friendship of over three years isn’t easy to toss away, Brett.”

“It’s been going on for longer, Edward. He was my friend for years. He came out to me three years ago, which coincidentally, was also around the same time when he became my right hand. But seeing who he really was and seeing what he had done severed any tie I had with him. Also, you fill the gap he left perfectly. Now come here,  _ Eddy _ . Let me help you get rid of that adrenaline, yeah?”

He closed the laptop and waved at Edward to come near. He wanted to ravage that man, but sadly he couldn’t do it. But he had plans for the two of them anyway.

“Show me how pretty you are on your  _ knees _ , yes?”

Edward grinned, sliding over to the other side of the table. “Of course,  _ sir.” _

He slid down to his knees, his eyes glazed over with a sharp obedience as a mere disguise for the volatility underneath; his head was tilted back to look up at Brett, the cocky grin on his face only growing wider as he rested a slender hand on Brett’s thigh; through the formal dress pants and all, Eddy could feel the warmth from Brett travel up cold skin, could feel his own cheeks flush a gentle pink as he pressed his lips against Brett’s legs.

“What do you want from me?” he hummed. 

“You know what I want and you know what you have to do,  _ pretty boy _ .”

His fingers threaded in Eddy’s hair, the soft pink blush on Eddy’s cheeks, the hazy eyes, the quickened breath and of course Eddy on his knees - Brett liked what he saw, even if it was not the first nor the last time he would see it. He had such a pretty boy loyal to him - genuinely loyal. 

He leant forward, his voice was only slightly above a whisper: “Do what you do best. Well, second to killing, that is.”

Having a male homosexual right hand who was overly devoted to him was a blessing, and sometimes, a curse. Eddy was always so available, so  _ ready to serve _ and oh so cute while doing it. 

He licked his lips, waiting for the other man to finally stop teasing him and  _ act. _

It was always a risk to  _ keep _ teasing Brett, but Eddy had always found it fun to continue doing everything at his own slow pace, to keep pushing Brett into being impatient; despite the fact that Eddy’s hands were still trembling with anticipation, with the need to hurry up and obey, he took his sweet time sliding his lips up Brett’s inner thighs, relishing the faint scent of coffee and steel.

The fingers tugging Eddy’s hair edged him on, pressing into the back of his head - what a comfort this was: tendrils at the back of Eddy’s head standing in attention; hands gently pushing his knees apart as they crawled up his thighs, inch by inch, minute by minute; each and every breath grazing right against the bulge. 

Eddy wasn’t quite sure what Brett’s expression was like at the moment, but he could more than certainly imagine it as he peppered kisses across Brett’s pants, as his nose continued to slide right past the zipper.

Yes, Eddy was a little tease and Brett hated and loved it at the same time. The older sharply inhaled and cursed softly. 

“ _ You fucking tease _ .”

His hand tightened on the younger’s hair, but still not forcing Eddy to move like he wanted, oh no,  _ Eddy _ would decide when to do what he wanted to do. Brett gave him that, always. Rarely did he force Eddy to do his bidding in the bedroom, only in the beginning of their training days. Never afterwards. The man leant back and wished,  _ oh he wished _ , that he could still move like he used to. He would throw Eddy face first on the desk and have his way with him. This was fine as well, but  _ damn _ he could only imagine what it would feel like being the one dominating Eddy physically as well as mentally. The rush he got from this made his head spin and his nerves tingle.

_ Yes _ . So right and so wrong at the same time. 

“ _ Eddy. _ ” 

A warning, a growl, but at the same time almost a plea. Brett never begged but damn, he was always so close.

A chill ran down Eddy’s spine at the tug in his hair, along with the low rumble of Brett’s voice; he sucked in a sharp breath, sparing a brief moment to glance up, the smirk still lingering on his lips. “Yes,  _ sir?” _

Forget giving Brett the time to respond; nimble fingers moved to undo the zipper, to reveal his hardened dick, with the tip dripping with precum. Everything was in Eddy’s hands, and he was going to make sure he shoved Brett to the very edge of impatience - hands pushing Brett’s hips against the chair, mouth slipping over the tip, leaving the rest of his cock out in the open air. He took a deep breath - coffee tinged with metal, the faint scent of leather, all things  _ Brett _ \- before taking in more of him and letting his tongue travel. 

Slow, slow, and slower did Eddy go: he wasn’t going to go anywhere  _ near _ deep-throating until he was done playing with Brett. 

Brett knew what Eddy was doing, oh yes, he knew it all too well. That  _ little shit _ toyed with him like he toyed with his victims. They had times when Eddy would  _ beg _ Brett to be present for the kill, and most of the time Brett acquiesced. If he had time that was. But if he was honest with himself, he always did make time for his little pet, especially when Eddy asked for it. It was rare though. It only happened once now, but Brett felt that Eddy wanted  _ more _ . But he would wait until Eddy spoke up. They were past the stage where Eddy would shy around with his wishes, but Brett made sure their boundaries were set straight and clear—Eddy cannot demand for things; he’s not allowed to take it that far. Slowly his dick got attention, but still mostly only the tip. He scraped gently over Eddy’s scalp, wordlessly urging him to take in more. Even when he couldn’t move his legs anymore, he could move his hands as he had demonstrated more than once by just pushing Eddy down. But both relished in the foreplay. The teasing, the kittenish licking, the sheer  _ gentleness _ both had in these moments was something to be cherished; treasured. 

Brett licked his lips again, completely relaxed with his most vulnerable part in another hitman's mouth. Eddy could end him easily that way but both knew Eddy would never do such a thing. No, never. He was too loyal and probably too mentally damaged to ever hurt Brett. Brett did a number on his brain when he was down in the basement. It wasn’t called  _ brainwashing _ for no reason. His loyalty was deeply ingrained - his infatuation on Brett helped him a lot in that regard - and so Brett would never wonder if Eddy was going to betray him.

The bond, their friendship, their  _ relationship _ was secure, stable. 

The man looked down at Eddy; their eyes met and Brett showed the other man a small smile.

Time for the killing blow.

“ _ Good boy. _ ”

Eddy’s eyes  _ glinted _ at the words, satisfaction brimming in his mind at the compliment; he could feel the blood buzzing in his ears as red lips continued to trail Brett’s dick. He took in as much as he could -  _ good boy, good boy, good boy  _ still gently ringing in his head. There was a brief moment where he paused to catch his breath, before letting Brett slide to the back of his throat; he was careful enough to be aware of his own limits, to be aware of when his gag reflex was kicking in - it’s happened before, but the experience of vomiting wasn’t pleasant. He was careful to set his own pace, knowing that in these moments, Brett would always follow suit.

A resonant mewl escaped as he felt the pull on the back of his head; he continued, his tongue swirling around the shaft, the flush on his cheeks only growing deeper with his headiness. The feeling of fuzziness travelled up his spine as he only continued to speed up, eyes dazed as they surveyed Brett’s reaction.

Brett moaned when Eddy finally stopped teasing and was taking him like he should. The bobbing of his head, the heated look from under his lashes, the flaring of the nose, yes, Eddy was a sight to behold.

“You are so  _ pretty _ ,” he thought Eddy should know that as well, even if he said it every time. It was true every time as well. Brett was not prudent with compliments. Why should he be? If Eddy did something good, he would be praised - this probably led to him developing a praise kink as well.

“Such a good boy. So pretty, so nice. And all mine.”

Eddy sped up more, knowing Brett was close. His dick twitched and more precum was released, it was only a matter of seconds before Brett would cum.

His cheeks were flushed, his gaze hazy, his pupils dilated. Only a small sliver of brown was seen behind the thick glasses. If he could, he would have jerked his hips, fucking into Eddy’s mouth, but he couldn’t. Oh, how he cursed the man who did this to him! But now only one thing was important: Eddy. Eddy and his wet and warm mouth, his beautiful movements, his bobbing head, his lucious, plump and oh so red lips. His hand tightened in Eddy’s hair.

“Close,” he pressed out, signalling Eddy he would cum in mere moments. Eddy liked to have a bit of warning and Brett adhered to that; he was not a monster. Not fully at least.

Eddy hummed in acknowledgement, a faint sense of pride flickering in his gaze as he maintained the pacing now. Brett looked  _ beyond _ satisfied, and Eddy was more than determined to relish in every last sentence of praise possible; he was good, he was pretty, but most importantly, he was  _ Brett’s. _ Every fiber of him had been fixed and perfected by the same man in front of him - to Eddy, there wasn’t a better way to express his gratitude than unwavering loyalty and dedication.

Eddy’s breath hitched the moment he heard Brett groan, and the feeling of cum against the back of his throat coaxed a feral response from him. He paused to take in  _ everything _ that Brett had to offer, before sliding back and brushing excess spit off of his mouth with a hasty hand. All that was left on his face was the look of pure bliss, along with the faint taste of salt left in his mouth; he smiled - wide and lively, tainted with the undertones of mixed satisfaction and desire - and looked up at Brett.

“How was it, sir?”

“Very, very good,  _ Eddy. You were such a good boy. _ ”

Brett grabbed his mug from the table to hand it to Eddy so he could wash away the taste. He took his time and stroked over Eddy’s cheek softly. A tender gaze was in his eyes and a small smile on his lips.

“Now clean me and tuck me back in, Eddy. Then we will head back to my room and I will take care of you, I promise.”

He knew Eddy liked sucking him but the man also liked getting some action. Brett would made sure Eddy’s needs were met as well. He stroked over the puffed red lips before looking up, only to be met with the face of none other than Ray Chen, a mutual friend; who was having a hard time acting like he didn’t just witness Eddy giving Brett head.

“Yes, how may I help you Ray?”

Ray was fairly new. He joined Brett’s group of hitmen straight out of training. He was older than them, specifically in his mid-thirties, but he was a neophyte. Brett raised an eyebrow at him while Eddy calmly took the older’s penis again in his mouth to clean it. Eddy tucked his trainor’s penis gently in before zipping up his pants. Ray’s eyes were glued to Eddy, who was working calmly, not giving him the time of day.

“Uhm, yeah, so, I was just wondering if I can use… use, you know, use room 2?”

“Yeah, sure. I will block it for you. Now get out. And never come in when I don’t tell you that you can, do you understand? Wait for the signal!”

Ray hastily nodded and with sped up steps, he was out of the office in mere seconds. Brett looked down as the door closed, giving Eddy a smile.

It didn’t happen often that someone walked in - especially while the door was closed - but Eddy had learned to only pay attention to what was important. Maybe Ray  _ had _ seen everything that had just happened. He disregarded it entirely as he stood back up, taking the mug from Brett’s hand with a quiet “Thank you,” and soon, all that he could taste was coffee. 

There were still traces of adrenaline in his blood, an excitement that he sought to be  _ taken care _ of; he tilted his head ever-so-slightly, peering over at Brett with a small grin. His cheeks were still rather flushed as he slipped behind the wheelchair, a hand resting on the handles. 

“If you’re all good,” he murmured, “I think we could head upstairs then.”

“Let me just book Ray’s room and then we can go.” Brett opened his laptop again and made quick work of it before closing it. He opened the drawer to take the keys out and nodded to Eddy.

“We can go now.”

Eddy nodded back, pushing Brett forward - he wasn’t the most skilled at maneuvering a wheelchair just yet - the fact that he had almost hit the table when making the turn should have said enough - but he was careful enough to make sure that he wouldn’t shove Brett into a wall by accident. 

When they were outside, Brett closed and locked the door and they headed to the elevator. With a special key only Brett had, he called the elevator and they went upstairs to the biggest complex; it was Brett’s apartment of course.

Eddy wheeled him to the door and after a fingerprint and iris-scan, the door opened. Brett didn’t trust anyone anymore. If they wanted to get into his room, they had to kill him.

“So, what would you like to do now?”

The duo headed into the room, with Eddy clicking the door shut behind him. Brett’s apartment never failed to inspire awe in him - it held the same pristine vibe as all of the rooms below, as the untarnished appearance and reputation that Brett held. Amidst the sound of the locks clicking back into place, Eddy began to push Brett into the direction of the bedroom, past the warm greys and reds of the living room and kitchen; his feet pattered against the wooden floor, occasionally creaking on a few of his steps. 

“I’d like it if,” his voice was low, a mere whisper in the silence; there was no embarrassment in asking, and yet his cheeks still flushed every time he managed to convey it, “I could have your cock in me, sir. I want you to fill me.”

“That can be arranged easily, Eddy. Very easy.”

Brett looked up and behind him, smiling at Eddy. Yes, he just needed a little bit of time to be fully hard once again. But Eddy needed to be prepared as well therefore everything would align perfectly. 

They halted at the foot of Brett’s bed. It was big and covered in dark red and black silk sheets. It had a dark wooden bedframe with a burgundy canopy. Brett liked it extravagant. It was a bonus that Eddy looked good between the red and black silken sheets. Brett especially liked him sprawled on the red ones; red was such a perfect colour for his little boy. His walls were painted in solid black because it made it more difficult for assasins to navigate around; a room with no windows made it hard to do so. 

The man lifted himself up and got on the bed, turning to Eddy with a smile and a glint in his eyes.

“You were good to me earlier. You can wish for something you would either like to play or try out,  _ babyboy _ .”

They rarely kissed, but he knew Eddy loved it. Cuddling was more their thing, hands intertwined as well as their bodies. When they were laying down, it wasn’t so prominent that Brett was a cripple, bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life if he could trust the doctor's assessment. Yes he still trained his muscles and went regularly to examinations and therapy, but so far, it was of no use. He eyed the wheelchair with distaste; yes, he needed it to move around, but he still hated it. 

His eyes fell on Eddy and instantly, they softened. It was tender, almost loving. Yes, his most prized possession so far. His greatest masterpiece. He still could not fully believe it, even after six months. Eddy was almost perfect. The only scars he wore were the ones Brett forced upon his perfect sun kissed body when he retrained him; and Brett would make sure it stayed that way. Only  _ he _ was allowed to mark his pet.

He held out his hand for Eddy to take. The other man didn’t even think about refusing the simple gesture and laid his hand immediately on top of Brett’s. The older raised it to kiss Eddy’s knuckles while pinning him with a look.

They would get rid of each and every slither of adrenaline rushing through Eddy’s veins; and replace it with pleasure and pain. Eddy would not be able to move afterwards, like always. The boy was so  _ needy _ sometimes. 

Brett stored the lube and the silicone helpers in a dresser right next to the bed; Eddy knew that of course. He has been sleeping with Brett in his apartment since he left the basement, and they engaged in sexual activity almost every night - when the job would allow it at least. And Brett had no reason to not utterly crush the boy tonight because tomorrow was Eddy’s day off.

They would lounge on the couch or the bed, Brett looking through jobs at a languid pace while Eddy kept him company. 

Eddy was also the only hitman ever to choose his jobs - not that anyone knew about that downstairs of course. They suspected it, but they had never a proof, and Brett wasn’t dumb enough to give them that. He chose Eddy’s victims carefully, not the most dangerous and not so far away, so Eddy could come home every night. He sent him away a couple times a month as well when he felt Eddy getting restless; and so far the tactic worked pretty decently. Also he didn’t give Eddy the best paid jobs, so the rest was pacified. Angering hitmen was never a good tactic. 

But now he was in the present, with Eddy in the bedroom. He stopped himself from thinking about such things. Instead he focused on his pet; his good, little, obedient pet. 

“I don’t have anything I want other than that, sir,” he hummed under his breath. “Just you tonight.”

"Then you shall have me," Brett murmed before kissing his knuckles again. 

The feeling of Brett’s lips against his hand continued to linger even as Brett pulled his head back. But even the faint touch paled in comparison to having his hands, his warmth,  _ him _ all over Eddy. He sank onto the bed, following Brett’s footsteps, his slender hands moving to undo the buttons on Brett’s black shirt: under his knuckles he could feel every last, relaxed breath that he was having; add a little more pressure, move his hand to the right spot, and then Eddy could hear the gentle heartbeat of the killer, the steady rhythm that he grew to associate with at the start of every imaginary symphony since retraining. 

Eddy soon slid-off Brett’s shirt, his cold hands brushing against toned muscle, before setting it off to the side. His eyes trailed up Brett’s neck, grazing past his jawline and landing right on his lips; he swung a hand behind Brett’s head, moving closer to press a long kiss against the side of his mouth. His own fingers began to fumble with his collar, hoping to slip it off as soon as possible and feel  _ freed -  _ free to press himself right against Brett, skin to skin, flesh to flesh - because there was nothing more he craved than the overwhelming pleasure of someone, something,  _ anything  _ inside him. 

Brett's hand wandered to Eddy's neck, turning the head a bit so their lips could finally meet. Yes, their kisses were rare, but not when they were together like this. 

He bit softly in Eddy's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth; when Eddy obediently opened himself up to Brett, their tongues met for the first time that day. Brett languidly probed and prodded his partners mouth, demanding participation in a tango of tongues. 

His other hand wandered over the toned body of the younger helping Eddy get rid of his shirt. 

They broke the kiss to look at each other. Brett's hand gently wandered to Eddy's cheek, stroking over it with his thumb. Softly he pecked at the other’s lips again, over and over and over. He wanted to praise Eddy and thank him for what he had done earlier not with words but actions. 

Eddy wanted Brett, only him and nothing else tonight. He threw the shirt on the floor where his own already was, and took time to touch and feel everything of his partner's upper body. 

The hard pecs, the six pack, the toned muscles and the well defined but not bulky arms. He was gently repositioning Eddy's willing body so that the taller man was laying on the bed, Brett over him. Every stroke and caress he followed up with his lips, kissing, sucking and softly biting into the flesh. He took great care of his nipples, sucking and licking over them, letting them harden from the stimulation. Finally his hands were at Eddy's waistband, unbuckling his belt before popping open the button. His kisses wandered up, marking the man on his neck, sucking and biting at the flesh until it was red and swollen - it would be purple tomorrow. His mouth wandered over the larynx, gently, oh so very gently, biting down, reminding him and Eddy that they were still killers, still dangerous. Brett felt the goosebumps spreading over Eddy's body and smiled. Yes, it was a good reminder. 

Kissing the side of Eddy’s sharp jawline and high cheeks, he made his way slowly back to his original goal: the lips. The moment he pulled the zipper down and stroked over the barely covered erection, his lips closed over Eddy's, bringing them even more together. 

When they broke the kiss, Brett bit Eddy's lower lip, harder this time around. Not enough to break skin, just sharp enough to make them swollen. 

"Undress. Now." 

His voice was husky and smooth like dark velvet. And of course  _ commanding _ . He wanted Eddy naked. He wanted Eddy naked  _ now.  _ He wanted to touch and trace everything the man could offer him; take him, his affection, his love and soul. His own trousers were a little tight again so he grabbed one of Eddy's hands and brought it to his bulge, letting him feel how much he wanted that. 

Eddy knew the command did go two ways: he had to undress first himself, then Brett. And the voice made it clear, teasing was not allowed this time. Eddy moved quickly the second he felt Brett’s bulge: there was absolutely no hesitation in any of his actions; with how he was  _ itching _ for his pants to be removed from the start. He threw them off, tossing it off to the side to reveal his hardened penis and more scars carved on his skin, each of which were marked by Brett; he never held it against him, knowing for a  _ fact _ that each cut was intentional and with reason, that it was only for his interest. The past memories of pain were wiped away by pleasure and dedication, by unyielding loyalty - each and every mark reminded him of exactly who he belonged to, who he _ served _ .

His hands fumbled over Brett’s zipper, fingers trembling with pure anticipation and a  _ different _ rush of adrenaline; an inexplicable excitement coursed through his blood; a need to be the good little pet he was, the obedient one that held worth in Brett’s eyes, overtook every one of his senses as he slipped Brett’s pants off in a swift action, letting the fabric dangle over the edge of the bed before it silently slipped onto the floor.

Brett’s lips were right against Eddy’s jaw as the younger turned over to the side and reached for the drawer: a haze clouded his vision as he slid the drawer out, taking a small bottle of lube, and setting it down on the table with a dull  _ thud. _ He moved his head back to face Brett, a hand taking the fallen glasses off the bed and securing it on top of the side table, before pressing yet another kiss against his lips, a tender one filled with all the adoration and respect he held for the man.

“Whenever you want, sir,” he murmured. “I’m ready when you are.”

Eddy mumbled in raspy baritone, each uttered with careful intent, knowing that these  _ exact words  _ would further excite Brett. And Brett couldn’t help it, not with Eddy, not with his cute  _ pet _ . He grabbed Eddy’s head and pressed their lips together - smashed them, to be more exact - rolling the man underneath him before dominating his mouth again. All the small whimpers and  _ oh so cute _ little moans and gasps; Brett drank them all, cherished it, carved into his heart. He was very much different with Eddy. He wasn’t aloof nor cold and calculating. He still had his guard up, but he was more pliant, more willing to give and take intimacy. Even Jordon didn’t see this side of him. This was only for Eddy, only for  _ him _ . 

They repositioned themselves - Eddy helped Brett - so they were laying in the middle of the bed, close to the headboard. Brett would need the support later. But for now he was kissing every inch of the newly exposed skin, giving more care, more kisses, more _ love _ to the scars he decorated Eddy with. He literally carved the signs of Eddy’s loyalty into the younger’s flesh, and Eddy loved him for that. He told him over and over again and the pure  _ adoration _ in his eyes was free of deceit and lies, making it their reality. The retired killer was gentle with Eddy when he opened the latter’s legs, coating his fingers with a generous amount of lube before breaching the boy with one finger. 

This was never meant to hurt; it was designed to be enjoyed, to be savoured, to be relished. So Brett took great care and time to ensure that Eddy only felt the good side of those things. He would never take Eddy unprepared, even when Eddy  _ loved _ being in pain while they were intimate, Brett would never stoop so  _ low _ as to hurt his partner in  _ that _ way. No, pain was brought differently. It was brought with soft hands around the neck, gently suffocating Eddy; it was brought with finger nails pressed into the flesh, leaving indents and bruises; with teeth breaching the skin, letting the blood flow freely over his naked body - but never,  _ never _ would Eddy feel pain when they were connected. Not during their first time nor afterwards. 

This was something Brett didn’t care much about with his previous partners. He had to admit - albeit only in his head - that he was really fond of Eddy, almost  _ loving _ the boy. Not in the way Eddy loved him of course, no, it was different. Brett would go to great lengths to ensure Eddy’s safety and happiness, but he had his limits. Eddy had none. They were completely wiped when Brett was concerned. Brett designed it to be that way and he was proud,  _ yes so proud _ , of Eddy when he showed him over and over again. In words, in gestures, in actions. So he would reward Eddy like he always did when Eddy was a good boy. 

They had a rule which Eddy begged for: everytime he came home without a scratch or wound, Brett would fulfill one of his wishes. Most of the time it was small things, a new tie, laying in bed together, going out to eat, something like that. Never grand things. And Brett obliged, showering Eddy with much needed and wanted praise, telling him how proud he was and so on.

When Brett finished preparing Eddy, their lips met again, their tongues languidly danced around each other, nudging and massaging the wet appendage, savouring each other’s tastes and closeness. Now was a short time for being calm and collected before the storm of lust, desire and passion would break loose, taking both of them with it. 

Arousal and lust were pumping through their veins, making the blood rush to their ears, flushing their bodies in scarlet. Brett got to the headboard and sat down on Eddy’s hips, his dick dripping with precum, red and engorged standing only for Eddy. He put a pillow in his back and leant back; looking over Eddy to take in the beauty that was this man.

He wiped his fingers on a pillow before taking his partner’s hand, guiding and pulling him gently towards him. Eddy knew what to do; it wasn’t their first time. And it almost certainly would not be their last as well. Eddy straddled Brett, locking their gazes. Brett squeezed their hands together and Eddy responded. A small smile was on his lips as they met again.

Nothing much had to be said other than their little gazes, their tender touches and smiles: Eddy lifted himself gently - the waves in his head were only growing louder, leaving absolutely nothing he could hear other than white noise and the steady drum of his heartbeat - before sliding himself onto Brett’s cock. A brief flicker of pain, a low groan from Eddy as pleasure gradually took control and flooded his veins, a slow, ebbing pace that gave way into a steady rhythm. Quivering hands moved to find their spot on Brett’s shoulders, and moans spilled from Eddy’s mouth as he felt Brett slamming right against his prostate; the room was silent except for the rough breathing, the unintelligible cries and curses in perfect harmony.

There had always been something nice about the dim lighting of the room: how, to Eddy, it illuminated the flush on Brett’s cheeks, made the shade of red even  _ richer _ than it was; how the glow reflected off of the beads of sweat travelling down his face and cusping his jaw; and how it only sought to highlight the gleam of adoration and  _ pride _ in Brett’s eyes, levels beyond the lustful haze that clouded it now. It pushed him to go faster, to prove that nothing Brett felt for him was misplaced; Eddy heaved a long moan as he felt Brett’s hands on his thighs, calloused fingers brushing right against scarred skin.

Together they were riding the high tides and waves; their foreheads, lips and gazes locked. Every whimper of Eddy, every moan, made Brett smile; his grip on the hips tightened, helping Eddy along, urging him on, until it all came undone, crashing like how waves violently collided against rocks before they fell into silence. Eddy had this cute choked whimper when he threw his head back as he came; Brett immediately latching onto the skin, pressing the boy down, filling him, uniting them, tying them together.

It always took some time but when they came back to their senses, Brett traced the cheeks of Eddy, taking in his blissed out face, his limp body, his small smile. They laid beside each other, exchanging soft kisses;  _ all  _ the kisses they didn’t exchange outside the bedroom. He kissed the tip of Eddy’s nose, his sweaty forehead, waiting for them to cool down, to regain their breath and voices.

When Brett laid back, Eddy was right beside him, their hands intertwined so that they were still connected. Brett stroke the killer's hand with his thumb, laid his gaze at their intertwined hands, then into Eddy’s eyes. Seeing only the best, positive emotions in his eyes. After sex Eddy looked so  _ young _ , so innocent, even though he was only a year younger. Maybe because he was relaxed, maybe because he had no mask on, maybe because Brett wanted to see that.

He turned his head to grab blindly for his glasses. He slipped them on before shifting his gaze back to the younger’s eyes. Yes, the same adoration was still in his eyes. He leaned against Eddy and kissed him on the forehead.

“You okay?”, he mumbled. He was pretty sure Eddy was okay, with all the preparing they did, but it never hurt to check. The short flash of hurt on Eddy’s face in the beginning unsettled Brett; he wanted to make  _ sure _ . 

Eddy hummed, nodding. “I’m fine - I’ve never been better. Thank you.”

It was true; it was in moments like this where Eddy truly felt at bliss, comforted by the feeling of Brett right next to him, the warmth and concern in his eyes a complete contrast to the cold exterior he put on during work. He nestled against Brett’s shoulder, clasping his hand tightly; his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as he relished the security settling in his stomach, the absolute  _ trust _ that he had in Brett.

He pressed a gentle kiss against Brett’s cheek. “Let’s get cleaned up, dear.”

“Sure. Let’s do it like always.”

Most of the time Eddy carried him to his shower, foregoing the wheelchair and they washed up together. Brett had a special built-in seat in his shower so he could sit down, and a long handle where he could balance himself out. It was moments like this, and being intimate with Eddy, that he wished he was a normal man. Not a crippled, wheelchair-bound man who had to rely on him.  _ He _ wanted to be the one carrying Eddy around just for fun;  _ he _ wanted to be the one to just scoop him up and twirl Eddy around whenever he felt like it. But he couldn’t. He didn’t feel less of a man because he was in the wheelchair, not at all, but he wanted to feel like he was  _ more _ . Even thought it was stupid. Eddy wouldn’t be at his side if he wasn’t the owner of the little agency he had. He would have never started it when the mishap didn’t kill his past life. So yes, he needed that accident to happen but on the other hand he hated it. But it was what it was, and so far nothing could be done about it.

He slung his arms around Eddy’s neck, pressing a small kiss on his lips.

“Let’s wash up.”

Eddy swung Brett over his arms, making his way over to the bathroom. He brushed the door open with his back and let Brett flick on the lights as they swerved across the tiles - all entirely out of habit, a coordinated dance that they had grown used to. He set Brett down in his seat and switched the water on; a gentle, lukewarm stream splashed over the duo, swiping away the sweat and the lingering traces of the evening. 

It was a couple of tender moments, mostly in silence as the night continued to take its course: Eddy’s hands running the water through Brett’s hair, their soft declarations of appreciation and gratitude, lips grazing against one another’s while the water trickled down their locks of hair and onto the patterned ground, swirling down the drain. 

Soon, they were back in the bed, Brett’s arm tucked right under Eddy and their hands intertwined; the aftermath of the adrenaline and pleasure had boiled down to a faint exhaustion - something he had been trained to fight off, but now wasn’t the time - and Eddy’s eyes were on the verge of fluttering shut. He burrowed his head deeper into Brett’s shoulder, letting out one last yawn before deciding that it was best to let sleep take over. 

“Thank you, Brett.” He never specified exactly what he was thankful for; there never was a need to do so, so why should he? Eddy was simply grateful for  _ everything _ that had happened in the course of the past few months. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Brett turned his head to kiss the top of Eddy’s before he was also closing his eyes, letting sleep wash over him, lulling them into a gentle embrace.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH, who would have thought no smexy time was possible?   
> But anyway, poor Ray got traumatized. But he will live :D
> 
> PLEASE show your appreciation by Commenting, & Kudo-ing if you liked this.  
> That is excellent feedback for us and we are very happy to receive something back :D
> 
> See you next week!


	6. Act 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ring**ring**ring*  
> Hello?  
> HELLO HERE IS THE FUCKING ANGST BUNNY IMMA COME AND FUCK YOU UP!!!!
> 
> oh no.
> 
> Say hello to a little angst-bunny :D

**Chapter 6 Act 5  
**

The next assignment Eddy took - of course ordered by Brett - he had a wish, a desire, a want.

They were laying in bed, freshly showered; a Sunday routine they mindlessly fell into. Brett kissed Eddy’s forehead and the tip of his nose, bathing in the afterglow. He looked,  _ studied _ , Eddy. The man - yes, man, not boy anymore - fidgeted with his fingers and didn’t meet his eyes. He was also more enthusiastic than ever - not that Eddy lacked it at all, but this was particularly more than he was used to it. Brett kissed him softly before backing up a bit.

“What is it?”

Eddy glanced over; an odd yet familiar luster of determination and hesitation crossed his gaze as he stared back at Brett. Their eyes had met, brown against brown, only for Eddy to glance away and take a fascination with the ceiling yet again. 

He was growing restless; not necessarily the type of restlessness that could be settled by sending him to a city hours away from here. No. It was the one that brought with it a storm of inadequacy. It wasn’t comforting, realizing that his kills seemed to be set in a pattern, that they were all growing too  _ simple  _ for him - and what was there to prove if everything was easy? He sighed at the subtle realization that his own worth was paralleled to the difficulty of a mission, the challenge behind it; because the more difficult it was, the more he would be proving his own worth to himself  _ and _ \- more importantly - Brett. 

A quick little shrug. “I’m just wondering.” He sank deeper into the bed, his eyes clouded over with thought as he struggled to piece his next words together. “I want to prove my worth to you. Not as Eddy, as  _ Edward _ .”

“But you did already, Eddy. You did show me your worth. Every mission you come home from, every mission you complete, every mission you are not injured; that is what makes me send you out more. I can trust you, your abilities, your vision and your  _ competence _ . That is what makes me feel confident in you returning to me. I would be crushed otherwise and you know it.”

Of course Brett understood what Eddy meant, but that didn’t mean he had to address it. Edward  _ was _ competent in his eyes. Very much so. Otherwise they wouldn’t be laying in his bed, but instead he would be either in the basement or training room. He only allowed Eddy to be in his bedroom because he knew Eddy would make up for the time lost when he was away - and also he needed rest once in a while. Only pushing forward was not the way to go. He needed rest, a time out - something Brett regulated with ease. He needed one of his best killers in the best shape, otherwise it would be ridiculous to expect a perfect performance.

His free hand stroked over Eddy’s cheeks, gently turning the head to him.

“If you weren’t worthy of me, then you wouldn’t be here.”

“I know that,” he mumbled, “but I want you to feel confident in me returning to you even with the riskier missions, the more difficult and time-consuming ones. I want you to know and  _ trust _ that I can do so much more.”

Eddy’s eyes were serene, yet laden with an open vulnerability and concern that was only ever seen within the confines of Brett’s bedroom; the gleam in them flickered briefly as he realized that Brett wasn’t quite answering the way he wanted to, but determination still reigned underneath. Loyalty was one thing - and Eddy had plenty of it to spare when it came to a particular Brett Yang - but the unwavering steadfastness continued to persist in Eddy,  _ especially _ when he knew it was something that was reasonable and possible in the first place.

He took a deep breath, shifting his head closer to Brett and dropping his voice until it was a low rumble. “I want to prove that I can do more. I want a challenge.” A small grin spread across his face. “I read the file; the client is flexible with anything, as long as I get the job done in two weeks. I want you to watch me; look at my every move. Sit there as I tear apart the mark, piece by piece, and know that I’m capable of anything.  _ Anything. _ ”

“So you want me present for the job?” Brett lifted an eyebrow at that. He wasn’t present even once on the field after his fateful injury. He simply  _ couldn’t _ anymore. He couldn’t run after a client, he couldn’t sweet talk to him, nothing. He was nothing but a nuisance, a distraction for Edward.

“How about a deal: You will hunt the victim down and then I will come to you, watching you do the job after capturing; watch you torture and destroy the mark. Because believe me, I would hinder you more than you think I could. I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt.” 

That would be quite unfortunate, also not what Brett intended to do. Every cut, every scratch, even a bruise that would tarnish Eddy’s body angered Brett. He liked the way Eddy was now. Only  _ his _ marks were visible; the rest were buried underneath.

Of course Brett knew Eddy was still messy, but now he was a good mess. Blood might spray everywhere, but Eddy - or should he think about Edward? - never left traces anymore. And when he did, Brett cleaned them up. But it was rare - so rare he only had to do it once the whole time. 

Brett stroked over Eddy’s cheeks. He wanted to keep him here, safe, in his bed. But he knew it was not possible. Eddy was born to kill, restlessness was bubbling under his skin, forcing him to  _ act. _ Brett rather saw to it before it became a problem.

His thumb caressed the lower lip, gently tracing it. His lips were still red from their previous activities; still lush and puffed. He kissed them almost raw. Strangely enough they rarely kissed outside the apartment. But here? It was a free for all. Maybe to fill the hours of not touching each other. Maybe he wanted to stake a claim. Well, everybody knew Eddy was his. They didn’t hide it. Not that they could with Eddy’s adoration so plainly visible.

Eddy’s eyes glinted: the mere thought of Brett watching the bloodshed, the thought of being able to see pride and approval flickering across his eyes in real-time was satisfying. It was also enticing to start the mission as soon as possible; his hands were already twitching at the thought of how things were going to be executed; of how he was going to prove himself. But he knew for a fact that there wasn’t anything he could do just yet - everything started tomorrow, and Eddy would let his thirst for blood go then.

For now, he crawled further into the sheets, nodding as he felt Brett cusp his jaw and press another gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you.” A brief smile. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither. You will do great.” Brett really thought that, otherwise Eddy would not be outside. But he had to be calm and collected. The thought of seeing his partner - Edward - in full kill mode got him excited as well. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea...

  
  


____

  
  


Easy to the point that it was almost  _ pitiful _ was the best way that Eddy could describe this capture; at least some people had enough of a brain cell to know that heading out into the open without a companion, especially when they were influential enough to  _ have _ people seeking their head, was generally not the best idea. A few long days of the second movement - a slow search, a dull drone of music that had nothing exciting to it - and Eddy had his mark all bound up in the middle of nowhere.

He knelt down on the ground, running a thumb over Chloe’s face to brush off the tears; a small smile, devoid of any comfort and joy, creeped onto his face as he brushed her black locks off her cheeks. “Don’t cry, love. We’re just waiting for company, and then we can get started, alright?”

His eyes moved to peek at the creak of the door; Brett opened the door silently and wheeled in, his eyes alternating between the mark and Eddy.

The woman was scarcely clad, her once nicely cut business suit was hanging off her luscious body, giving him an eyeful of her underwear. Not paying the woman any more mind than he had to, he wheeled to Eddy, still in quite a distance from  _ her _ so even when she could escape, he would be safe from her. Not that Brett thought she could do much damage - not with that petite form she had - but it was always better to be safe than sorry. He pulled a knife from his pocket and laid it on his lap, looking at Eddy.

“So,  _ Edward _ , I am here. Please begin with telling me how you would want to proceed with the mark.”

His voice was velvety, soft and  _ oh so  _ dark. He was now living through Edward. It was such a  _ long _ time ago since he had really killed a mark. He almost forgot how much fun it could be. His eyes glinted with joyful anticipation of what to come. That was also why he wanted to hear from Edward what he had planned. It would be a feast for them. And the first step was to get the victim shudder in fear by spelling out her fate. It was always much more terrifying to know what would come, especially when they know they could not do anything about it. Poor, poor Chloe had to endure what would come her way - if she wanted or not. And Brett was fairly certain she did  _ not _ want that.

Eddy - no, Brett called him  _ Edward  _ for a reason; the name was his to claim - Edward glanced down at her hands, pristine fingernails that were painted over with such a brilliant blue.  _ How lovely, how beautiful, how picturesque, _ he realized as he ran a thumb over each nail and heaved a long sigh; he could practically smell the fear from her when glancing back at Brett and breaking into a brilliant grin. 

“Remember when,” he tapped his own chin, pretending to be lost in thought, “we first met in the bar three years ago? How I told you that my favorite way to kill a victim was to tear them apart, one finger at a time, one limb at a time, and make sure they watched me do it?”

Edward reached into his back pocket, pulling out a thin knife - the handle nice and light, the blade balanced in his palm. His head cocked ever-so-slight as he glanced back at Chloe’s hand, running the flat of the blade against her skin. “Y’know, I wouldn’t mind doing that this time around.”

“Sounds wonderful, Edward. But for the sake of our eardrums, let's rip out her tongue first. I hate begging, if you remember that. It annoys me, but I want to relish in seeing you in action. All beautiful in red; wonderfully painted onto you. I always thought red was your colour.”

Brett smiled at him. That was also why his bedsheets were red now constantly. Eddy as well as Edward looked so  _ good _ in red.

“Now, please, begin. I’m all eyes.”

Brett would enjoy,  _ savour  _ it. Every minute, every second even. Now was the time to see the pretty face distorted in pain and fear. Well, for the fear they didn’t need to wait - the girl's face was already painted in it. Her endless begging was already grating on Brett’s nerves so he hoped Edward would make true to his words of obedience; he had no reason for distrusting Edward on this.

“Oh, of course.” He stood back up from his spot, gently pushing Chloe’s head back until it was against the chair; there was always something so satisfying about the meek whimpers and guttural screams, tinged with justifications for why one should live, but they were frustrating to listen to for Brett, and Edward would respect that. “What a brilliant little idea.”

There were a few reasons why gloves were useful in the field: firstly, perhaps the more obvious reason, the fact that it provided some semblance of security regarding fingerprints being left everywhere; secondly, it made it easier for Edward to pull the tongue out of her mouth in a smooth sweep. Without giving her the chance to respond, he slid the knife right in front of her face, his precision so well-trained to the point that she could feel the blade grazing past her nose before the searing pain from her tongue. 

Nothing was ever to be said in these delicate moments. He never heard anything except for the pained screams of the mark, some of them loud and  _ shrill _ . He wasn’t quite sure what his favorite sound to hear was - was it the low whines? The screams that pleaded for him to have mercy? - mercy, mercy,  _ mercy _ , what a laughable word, what a fickle concept.

He was hoping for Brett’s sake that he would be greeted by someone who refused to scream, by someone who only whimpered and groaned gently in his symphony; it was unfortunate that she wasn’t it. A screech greeted his ears instead, as the pain finally registered and crimson began to spill from her opened mouth, staining the vibrant navy of her suit. Waves crashed in Edward’s head as his surroundings went dark: there was absolutely nothing that existed except for  _ her  _ at this moment, and the piercing squeal that echoed throughout the room; there was nothing he could see beyond her face, contorted in both terror and pain, and her eyes, so widened to the point that Edward could see his entire reflection in those trembling irises. 

_ Shut up, dear.  _

Brett watched Eddy do his thing. He had a smile on his face, his eyes concentrated on the victim. The retired killer knew, Eddy was gone and only Edward was here. And he loved seeing him like that. He loved the short quiet that followed the action.

Edward dropped the tongue, letting it settle on her lap; beads and remnants of saliva smeared over her bare skin and the rips in her outfit. His attention travelled over to his next target - every scream had to be met by punishment, after all - as he circled the chair and as she continued to heave scream after scream, praying for anyone outside to hear, to come in and help-

Edward’s knife moved so quickly that flickers of blood flew off the blade; the stained silver was nothing but a blur to untrained eyes, digging itself a groove into the wood as he swept her pinky right off. Sharp eyes travelled over to the limb - still warm and pink, entirely limp as scarlet tinged the blue nails - before growing darker at another shrill cry, mixed with unintelligible, perhaps inhuman, sounds. 

Adrenaline pulsed through his entire system as he knelt down to pick up the severed finger; wouldn’t the fingernails be more beautiful if they were painted in crimson? The blue was too loud, too rough for his tastes; it screamed,  _ demanded, _ to be changed, leaving Edward to bring it up to her trembling lips. Wordlessly, he tucked the finger right under the constant stream of blood (he took a faint sense of pride at how  _ still _ she was as she held her breath, eyes peering past her nose to watch what he was doing) and watched as it dribbled away the blue. A gloved hand set the finger down on her lap, accompanying the lifeless tongue; he took a quick detour to the back of the chair as she glanced down to take a look at the collection of bits and pieces of  _ her _ flesh - and then came another bout of hysterics, sounds that were only a waste of oxygen as the drool and blood bubbled out of her lips. 

A  _ thud,  _ and another finger lost, another finger tossed onto her lap; her legs were bound so tightly to the chair that her attempts to shake them off was only greeted by Edward stifling a snicker. One by one, scream by scream, and he soon had a smirk on the corner of his lips as he tossed the final thumb over her. 

Brett watched his partner cutting the mark in small pieces. He shuddered in delight and ecstasy. Yes, oh yes, he chose perfectly. He licked his lips, not wanting to break Edward’s concentration, but also wanted to tell him something. He did ask for guidance after all, right?

The bound man couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “Edward.”

His pants were uncomfortably tight, but he would endure - for Edward’s and Eddy’s sake.

“Edward come here,” Brett knew Edward would hear him. Loyalty and  _ obedience  _ were trained so deeply into him; he would hear Brett’s voice. Even when he was gone completely, Edward would hear him, his command, his voice,  _ his master _ .

He did for sure; Edward’s head snapped up at the sound of Brett’s voice, even if the words were a low hum, barely audible through the continuous sobs. His eyes flickered back, his gaze brightened as it landed on Brett. Blood continued to rush through his head, and adrenaline continued to quiver his hands as he headed back into the corner of the room, gently kneeling down on the ground to meet Brett in the eyes. “Yes, Brett?”

Brett took Edward’s face in his hands and pulled him gently to him. Their lips met for a split second. This was not about intimacy, but an order, Brett had to remind himself.

“Skin her arms before you cut them off. Make her regret ever stepping a foot outside. Do it with every limb you remove. I love seeing you in red.”

Edward broke out into a toothy grin. “Perfect.”

Then, things were back to the steady pacing that Edward had set for himself prior to Brett’s advice; he sauntered back to his mark, taking delight in the fear lacing her gaze and the blood - oh, what a beautiful shade of scarlet, watch how it dripped onto the ground - all over her once-pristine body. The knife in his hand was completely stained in drying blood, forcing a flinch out of Edward - it had grown so red to the point where the sharp metal underneath was no longer visible. He shook his head, sighing, and stepped close enough that he was towering over her once again; that his shadow had completely obscured the dying glimmer in her eyes. Slipping back into silence once more, he took the blade and wiped as much of the blood off by smearing it right across her cheek; he relished in the black mascara and tears mingling with the red, the colors shining against pale skin. He pushed against her cheek, as hard as he possibly could, to ensure that every last speck of  _ her _ was freed from his blade-

His process was interrupted by a bout of flailing;  _ god _ , was Edward amazed at the human endurance, at the ingrained instinct to survive even when everything was bleak. He watched her try and struggle through the bindings, splatters of blood shooting through the air with each scream.  _ How frustrating. _

He wondered how slowly he could go; there was always satisfaction in the swoosh of the knife cutting through the air as it made its mark against skin; but there was also satisfaction in taking his time and watching his victim squirm at the feeling of cold metal sliding under the skin. But screw thinking and planning out exactly how he wanted to skin her alive, how he wanted to execute Brett’s command - Edward wanted her to  _ shut up _ , and his gut instincts were telling him that taking his time was the best way to go around this; the more pain there was, the more of a  _ punishment  _ this would be for the shrieks and gurgles of blood.

And so he begun: positioning the knife right on her forearm, the blade ever-so-carefully angled; he dragged it into her skin inch by inch, eyes glittering at the blood that was starting to bead and drip down her arm. His hands were barely trembling this time around, steady as they worked with deadly accuracy - perhaps  _ this _ was the best idea, the best lesson for continuous movement and screaming, because while Edward would try to keep the blade moving as straight as he could, the only person that could make this worse was Chloe and her excessive squirming. 

Edward soon came to realize that she was in too much of a panic to process what was happening, to process that constant fidgeting was never the way to go: but it wasn’t as if he cared in the first place, was it? Everything was always a job, just another way for Edward to be paid  _ and _ for him to prove his capability to the man he owed his life to; so why should morals and ethics come into play when they were completely and utterly unnecessary? His mind flickered briefly to Brett, still watching from the corner of the room; yet, it didn’t take long for him to return fully concentrated on the target at hand. A quick toss of the wrist, and then Edward had a thin piece of flesh in his hands: mayhaps not the best cut he had made in his life, but then again, who would blame him if his victim refused to stop moving?

He tossed it onto her lap, snickering to himself as she let out another scream, albeit more hoarse and quieter than the times before - maybe things were starting to work in his favor, but mere  _ improvement _ didn’t satisfy him. Without hesitation, Edward slid his blade back under her skin, eyes taking a morbid fascination with the blood pooling in every crevice possible; it collected in the little crevices of the chair, the slit between her arm and the rest, anywhere it could cling onto and begin drying into rust; it complimented the sniffles and whimpers and tears - never the screams - through the satisfying sounds of his footsteps against the blood collecting on the ground. 

He wasn’t certain how long it took for her to fall into silence - whether she had fainted because her body had begun to give up on her or because the fear and pain had somehow  _ just _ crossed a certain boundary - but he appreciated it all the same. A sigh escaped his lips, and he gently prodded her head up to see if dear Chloe had been completely knocked out. 

Yes, indeed. And what  _ bliss _ this was - Edward never preferred it when they fainted. They were always better awake, when he could see the tears filling their eyes and their contorted faces from all the pain and panic - but they were silent now; Brett no longer had to endure the atrocious screams. His forearm moved to wipe the beads of perspiration that had begun to collect on his head - he ignored the trace of blood that had smeared across his hair, that could be dealt with later - and continued on his work. 

Limb by limb, piece by piece: even if she wasn’t awake to witness her own body being torn apart by Edward and his singular knife, he hoped she - in death, of course - would know how much he enjoyed it, how much he loved slowly ripping her into mere cubes of skin and muscle. He knew how he wanted it to end, as he twirled the knife in his palm and hacked away at the legs - it was going to end with  _ nobody _ recognizing who she was. Nobody was even going to suspect that the bleeding flesh in front of them once belonged to a human; nobody would know unless Edward was careless, and  _ boy _ , he was going to tear a hole into himself if that was the case. He  _ refused _ to tolerate his own carelessness now, lest he wanted to disappoint Brett as well. 

It took beyond an hour for Edward to finish - it always did. He was more than certain that whatever  _ carcass _ was left had died too many minutes ago, but it was always worth it to finish the kill: he took one last look at what was left of Chloe, from the stained clothing to the awkward lull of her head. 

A smile. Everyone always looked beautiful in red.

He raised his knife, before sliding it right across her throat; there wasn’t much left to spill out of the sliced arteries anymore, and yet, Edward still took satisfaction in the few droplets that sputtered out. His concentration on the corpse now began to dwindle as he spun around on bloodied heels, his grin growing more and more childlike by the second - he wondered how he had done, if the bones and skin around the bloodied throne was _good enough_ for Brett. He wanted - he _demanded_ - the pride glowing on Brett’s face, the little murmurs of praise against his ear that always sent shivers down his spine.

“How was it, dear?”

Brett sat silent in his wheelchair, except the one thing in the beginning, watching and analyzing Edward. Yes. He really was a masterpiece.

He held silently his hand out when Edward spun to him, asking for his opinion. His tongue was thick and lazy in his mouth and his pants were so tight - even after hours of torture and screams and blood. It was not the blood that had made him hard, no, it was Edward. Edward and how he handled the blade, how he took his time, how he smiled, how he moved.

Yes, the first slices were not as precise as Brett would have liked it, but Eddy’s skills with the knife got better as time passed. When Eddy stepped closer, Brett grabbed his favourite killer and pulled him down for a kiss.

It was time to praise his good boy. And he really, really was a good boy now. Brett was happy, very much so.

“You were  _ perfect _ . Simply  _ perfect _ . Such a precision, such focus. How you handled her, how much time you took, how you moved and executed every painful blow. It was gorgeous. It was a delight to see you working. Thank you Edward.”

He pressed their lips against each other again and smiled.

“Now get us home so we can celebrate.”

_ Celebrate _ \- the word forced Edward to suck in a breath, along with the hand clasping his shirt; relief, pride and  _ joy _ settled in his gut as he listened to Brett compliment him, words that he would treasure and savour for ages to come. 

“Of course.” He hummed. “Let’s go.”

___

  
  


Their days together were not spent differently after that. Not much that is.

But Brett treated Eddy differently now. Eddy and Edward.

He gave him more  _ exciting _ missions, more dangerous ones, having seen his masterpiece in action. He was much more agreeable when Eddy tried to convince him of something. And of course he was much more affectionate with him. Brett let Eddy  _ feel _ how much he cared for him now.

Soft kisses inside the office - still behind closed doors - in between missions, and the vast things they tried now was astonishing. Brett had so much trust in Edward’s ability, he let him go on back-to-back missions; still keeping a sharp eye on his resting behaviour, making sure to reward him plenty afterwards.

Months rolled around and Edward was now as feared as Brett once was - and for some people, still  _ is _ . It was a not so quiet whisper now that they were a  _ thing _ . Not after Brett shot another hitman in the face outside his café in the face for touching Eddy inappropriately.

Nobody tried anything funny afterwards. Not after seeing Brett’s face. Not that he was scary, no, but he just wheeled out, shot the man without even batting an eye, and rolled back in nonchalantly. His face was totally blank. It scared the other hitmen because the victim was a very old friend of Brett - everyone knew that. And what would he do to them if he killed his friend like his, just for  _ touching _ Eddy? Nobody wanted to find out.

  
  


They were in training room number 6 today.

Brett observed Eddy’s training - as always.

They were almost finished, Eddy was at the last rep of his 100 finger push ups. 

The retired hitman was counting out loud - not that Eddy wasn’t capable of it; Brett did it for fun.

Once Brett landed on 100, Eddy hopped back onto his feet, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. Faint tinges of soreness and pain lingered in his arms, but it wasn’t more than manageable; and Eddy was more than certain that he could keep going for more reps if absolutely needed. He took a few deep breaths to relax and shake out all of his muscles, before breaking out into a radiant grin.

“All good for today?” Eddy asked just to double-check; he was certain that everything was finished, but his biggest weakness was still the occasional memory slip. “If so, I’ll just take a quick shower, and then we can head down.”

“Yes, you are finished.” Brett wheeled to him and handed him the towel he had placed on his lap for Eddy. The man looked so good, drenched in sweat and glistening - well not in the sun, but under the light. Brett had to bite on his lips not to order him upstairs to their apartment. But he was close.  _ Very close. _

“And also yes, you go shower and then we go to the café. I know you crave cake and coffee.”

Eddy snickered, tousling his hair with the towel. “You know me too well.”

A shower later (along with the long, tender gazes they exchanged while waiting for the elevator), and they made their way into the café; brief glances were tossed in their direction, glances that held no meaning other than a  _ recognition _ of their influence, maybe a few that were glowing with awe and wonder. The latter, in particular, were mostly from the newer assassins, those that looked at their heroes as if they were  _ untouchable _ , a recall to Eddy’s old self the first time he had ran into Brett. 

Had it really been three years now, three years since the fateful encounter at the bar? Eddy nearly couldn’t believe it; everything had seemed like a blur to him, to the point where it felt like they had known each other for  _ decades _ . 

He swept over to the counter, trailing the faded scent of mint shampoo behind him. It didn’t matter what his connection to Brett was, he still insisted on paying for whatever he ordered here himself - it only seemed the most fair to everyone. Placing his order and getting it all ready for the two of them (Brett would never say if he wanted something, but Eddy always bought him coffee anyways) took little to no time, and Eddy was soon back at the tiny table that Brett had been reserving for them, setting both mugs and the tiny plate down as he took his rightful seat. 

The retired killer smiled at him. It was nice to see that Eddy didn’t change much, he was still the sweetheart he knew Eddy was all along.

“Thank you.” It was polite to thank the person who bought your coffee, even though you own the café; but for Brett it was  _ more _ . It was a  _ symbol _ , not a simple gesture. It showed him so much more than just a plain  _ coffee _ . It showed that Eddy cared, that he cared in this  _ exact moment _ . Brett felt loved - since he came up from the basement on  _ that _ day, he felt loved. Not artificially like with Jordon, but for real. And Eddy showed him again and again that he meant it. He didn’t say it often - rarely even - but it wasn’t about the words, it was about the feeling, the heart, the  _ soul  _ behind all this. At first Brett didn’t believe him - he thought it was retraining going too deep, but then Eddy and Edward showed him. Told him. Again and again and he couldn’t help but believe him. The admiration, the feelings, the  _ love _ , was all too plain visible in Eddy’s eyes, in his soft gestures like when he would open the door for Brett; carry him to the shower, wheeling him down the hallways; getting him something from the high shelves - small things like that. Brett was of course able to do all that without problem, but Eddy made sure he didn’t need to. And he didn’t wait to be asked for it, but instead watched Brett and helped him without being pushed to it. 

Was that love Brett was feeling? The soft, fuzzy, warm swirles, like touches of butterfly wings? Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just an infatuation, a crush. But for sure it was a pleasant, nice feeling, something he enjoyed. Like the coffee, like Eddy’s presence.

He sipped from the mug, engaging in a soft conversation with his partner before heading back to work in his office. Eddy had his time off for now so he was either with Brett or strolling around the vicinity.

Brett opened the laptop and did his daily job: going through the customers and their demand, their prices and targets before accepting or declining the job, assigning them to a hitman and writing a response email back. It took a lot of his time to get through everything and he was down to the last email from an unnamed source. It was not unusual that the customer wanted to stay hidden to avoid bringing any attention to their person. The victim they requested was a wholly different matter. It let Brett’s heartbeat pump like crazy; sweat collected on his forehead and his hands, his body temperature rose and he knew, he  _ knew _ this was a fight or flight response. And his only response could be to  _ fight _ .

Eddy’s brilliant smile was on his laptop in all its glory, albeit it was a black and white photograph, smiling innocently at something or  _ someone _ outside the frame. Brett instantly knew where and when the photo was taken: directly in front of his café merely two weeks ago when they were coming home from grocery shopping. Even killers needed snacks. His hands were balled into fists and his cheeks were aflame, like his eyes were blazing with rage and fire. 

The instruction were simple: 

_ Kill the victim _

_ One week deadline _

_ Preferred method: none _

Someone tried to get a mark on Eddy and Brett would  _ not _ allow that. He was his! If he ever decided to get rid of him, it would be  _ his _ decision and  _ his _ alone. 

He sent a short and not overly nice letter back to the concealed email, stating that this mark was off limits for his agency and they should abstain from contacting him and his agency again on that matter. He even included a fair warning that this should not be brought to other sources as well. Brett did not disclose why because that was not important. The contract was of course declined and the retired killer had to close the laptop, still fuming. 

No one, absolutely  _ no one _ would touch Eddy,  _ his Eddy _ . Not without his permission and certainly not as anyone’s mark.

If he could, he would pace up and down in his office. So he chose the next available option: he grabbed his phone and texted Eddy to come immediately into their apartment.

He wheeled out, barking some orders at Nathaniel, who was a newbie that worshipped the ground Eddy walked on, and left for the elevator. As soon as he was in the apartment, he rolled into the bedroom, waiting for Eddy. 

Eddy wasn’t far from the café when he received the text; he had been sitting in the nearby square, right under the shade of the tree, watching. People always moved in particular fashion, and he had taken a certain fascination with watching them shift back and forth on the pavement. But everything fell into the background when his phone rang with Brett’s message - it was laced with urgency, and Eddy could almost hear the sharpness in each syllable as he began to dash back home.

He did his best to maintain his composure as he ran into the café, hoping to not alarm any of the other patrons there; the wind chimes rang in his head as he started sprinting up the stairs the second nobody was there to witness it. His shoulder shoved the door open as he stumbled into the apartment and then the bedroom where Brett awaited. 

_ Anger _ . That was what Eddy was getting from Brett, the type of anger that was boiling over and overflowing, the anger that washed one’s vision with dreams of hands stained with vivid crimson. He furrowed his brows and frowned - this type of anger was exceptionally rare from Brett, only when someone had genuinely crossed him to the point of no return. 

Eddy took his spot right next to Brett, his gaze softening. “Is everything alright?”

“No. I had some …  _ bastard _ entering you as a mark today. I don’t know who it was or why, but they got a pretty good picture of you and me entering the café - not that I was visible.”

Brett grabbed Eddy’s face with both of his hands, anger flowing over now, his eye burning with hatred.

“I will rip apart that  _ bastard _ . I will find them and I will kill them. For even  _ daring _ to enter your name; for even  _ thinking  _ about entering your name.” Brett would have frothed at his mouth if he wasn’t such a composed individual - which he currently was not. He pressed Eddy’s cheeks tighter together, bringing them down onto the bed.

“ _ You are mine and mine alone. Only I can and will kill you. Only I decide whether you live or die, do you understand? _ ”

Brett pressed a hard and unforgiving kiss on Eddy, before abruptly lifting his head, staring down at the other killer.

“Only  _ I  _ decide when you die. And you will do so by my hand. Not some other amateur’s. Only  _ mine _ . If you get killed by another I will kill them and then you again.”

This didn’t make any sense at all, but Brett was also seeing only red in his current state. Eddy was his, _his,_ **_his_** _._ He pressed their lips together once more, biting into Eddy’s lower lip, staking his claim.

Eddy didn’t have time to process exactly what was happening as Brett pressed him on the bed; his eyes flickered against the unreadable darkness behind Brett’s, shoulders sinking into the mattress. He struggled to  _ speak _ , to say something that could hopefully provide Brett with comfort as the kisses grew in intensity and as the faint taste of blood blossomed on his lips - what was there even to say? Eddy was going to keep an eye on his back; he was going to be as careful as he could and make sure that  _ anyone _ who laid a finger on him - him, Eddy, Edward,  _ Brett’s _ \- would face his blade next; his life was Brett’s,  _ all _ Brett’s, and anyone who dare challenged the ruling wasn’t going to live another day.

“O-Of course.” An interruption, a sloppy kiss against the corners of his mouth, Brett’s hands burrowing further into Eddy’s cheeks - his breath hitched briefly as he blinked, the angered flush on Brett’s cheeks growing darker. “I’m all yours. I’ll always be, I’m yours to control.”

The last bit of his lingering thought was left unsaid, but its presence flooded the air -  _ you own me, you control me, you can destroy every last inch of me and I’d still be at bliss. _

Brett growled and claimed Eddy’s lips again, biting in the lower lip, licking at the spilled blood.

“Yes, you are  _ mine _ .”

He grabbed the dress shirt Eddy had put on this morning, ripping it forcefully away, not minding that he destroyed it in the process.

“Prove it. Prove that you are mine _ and mine alone _ .”

The red was like a whirlwind in Brett’s brain. Someone was trying to take him away. Someone was trying to kill him. Someone would try to  _ take him away  _ Brett. This would never happen. Not in his life. He would kill anybody if even someone  _ dared _ to look at Eddy the wrong way. And he would send out a warning to all other killers. No one was to touch Eddy.  _ Absolutely no one _ .

A shiver crawled down to the base of Eddy’s spine at the command; his face flushed at the feeling of bare skin against open air; at Brett’s low voice rumbling through his ears. His eyes narrowing with their own delight - he was going to be Brett’s good little toy, he was going to prove his own obedience - he mumbled a quiet “Yes, sir,” and went on to start  _ acting _ . 

Brett was moving with urgency to his every action - it wasn’t difficult for Eddy to tell that Brett didn’t want any teasing or  _ tenderness _ to happen. There was a single objective in his mind: to prove that  _ everyone _ \- himself included - knew exactly who Eddy belonged to. Devoid of the adrenaline that kept him quivering after missions, he unbuttoned Brett’s shirt in a smooth sweep, taking it in his hands and tossing it aside; a gentle hum escaped from his mouth as he felt Brett’s lips slowly make its way down his jaw and torso, leaving behind marks of red against pale skin. But Eddy didn’t mind, he wouldn’t ever mind - Brett had always insisted that Eddy looked best in red, and Eddy would always let him have his way.  _ Whatever he wanted. _

All that Eddy offered, Brett simply  _ took _ . His body, his soul, his everything. Every moan was Brett’s, every pant, every hitched breath, every drop of blood,  _ everything _ . 

When they were finally naked and Eddy prepared, he didn’t let the younger one choose his preferred pace. He pulled him down, down, down until he was fully inside, kissing the pain and the tears away, whispering sweet nothings, while pulling the man up and back down, kneading his willing flesh. Not even once did Eddy say ‘no’ or ‘stop’. Only ‘yes’ and ‘more’. Their dance was perfected; they were in sync with each other. His glasses were fogged but he didn’t care. Only the feeling of  _ Eddy _ around him was important.

He didn’t stop pulling the weak and boneless body against him until Eddy cried his name and the hot liquid of their lust was spilled between them. Only then did he allow himself to come as well, marking Eddy from the inside.

As they were laying next to each other, still catching their breath, he gently pushed away the sweaty bangs from Eddy’s forehead, kissing him gently.

“I would love to mark you even more. Not like this, but with fire. A burnmark like they did with cattle and horses. Because you are my property. I have the sole ownership, right? Tell me Eddy, do I have that?”

Despite his harsh and unforgiving, even terrifying words, his kisses were the most gentle in the world. Soft pecks over Eddy’s face, the tip of the nose, the eyelids, the corner of the eyes and everything else. Brett lifted his head and looked into Eddy’s brown ones. 

“You would, right?”

“I would.” Eddy heaved gentle breaths out of his mouth, his cheeks a brilliant pink, marks of red encircling his body.  _ God, _ how everything was always so temporary, how the red would eventually fade into purple and dissipate: something about the idea of a permanent mark against his skin was  _ tempting _ to his hazy head. “Of course I would.”

He leaned into Brett’s next bout of kisses; everything was so comfortable, so blissful in these moments - the soreness wouldn’t settle until later on, but even then, he would take it all for himself afterwards, as proof that he had done  _ well. _ His hand moved to take Brett’s wrist, dragging it over to the side of his face; his touch was light, delicate, calloused fingers merely grazing against Brett’s arm.

“Where do you imagine it to be? Here?” he muttered; Brett’s hand rested on Eddy’s own jaw, right below his ear. He let his fingers trail back down to his neck - “Or here?” - and then down to his torso, his toned chest - “Or maybe here?”

Brett followed the motion with his eyes, his mind tumbled over itself. He didn’t know where he would put a mark of such significance. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered, completely honest with Eddy, “I really don’t know where. Everywhere, nowhere, for the world to see, only seen by me. I can’t decide.” His nails scratched gently over the skin,  _ his _ skin. Would he choose a black tattoo, or really a burning iron? A white tattoo or a knife? He was not sure. He already put his marks on the perfect body and it still wasn’t enough. Would it ever be? When and could he stop if he chose to do it himself? Would he allow other people to touch, to even  _ see _ Eddy? He was not sure. And that was probably the worst part.

His head sank on Eddy’s shoulder, gripping Eddy’s arms in a tight grip.

“I don’t know, Eddy,” his voice was so soft it was barely noticeable. Brett pressed kisses on the pec, biting and sucking his way upwards. “But I know I will find that  _ bastard _ and put them out. For  _ daring  _ to try to kill you.”

In his eyes the rage, the hatred, the fire burned anew. Brett would make sure to catch them and then he would have a field day with the subject. Nothing, absolutely  _ nothing _ would be left. Only satisfaction would burn inside him.

And that was alright, that Brett wasn’t sure - Eddy was patient, and it never mattered how long Brett took to make his decisions, as long as he felt secure in them. He only managed an easy smile as they continued to remain intertwined in each others’ arms, Brett right against Eddy’s chest; the space between them was so small that Eddy could hear every steady heartbeat, feel every breath against his skin as Brett’s lips returned back to his jaw.

It didn’t matter that there was someone who wanted Eddy dead; it didn’t matter that Eddy was more than capable of dealing with that, more than skilled enough to watch his own back and protect it well. It mattered that  _ Brett _ was ready to fight, tooth and nail, for his security; that Eddy felt safe when cradled in his arms. And Eddy took more comfort in that than he did in anything else; the reminder that for once, he had someone who was willing to watch his back with a sharp, protective eye.

“Take your time.” His voice was soft in Brett’s ear. “I’ll accept any decision you make, love. Anything you choose to do with me.”

“I know, Eddy, I know. I want to make sure it’s perfect. Perfect like you. Perfect like Edward. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Brett grasped Eddy’s chin and turned his head like he wished, only to kiss him once again on the lips.

“No outside missions until I found them. No risky missions until they are dead. You will stay at my side the whole time you are here. You will do as I say and when I say. You will not fight me on this. You will _ obey _ .” Every sentence Brett’s lips grazed Eddy’s.

He knew the killer was not happy with the order, but it was better to chain him to himself rather than let him go out and get killed. No, he wouldn’t allow it. Edward’s mission was to stay alive and so his other missions would slow down - greatly. Yes, Brett trusted Edward, but he didn’t trust the other person who ordered the kill. Who knows what this person would do? He would not take any chances, not even one tiny bit. 

“I will inform each and every killer in the agency that they will tell me instantly when they are contacted. They will protect you as well. I know you are capable, I know you are one of the best killers I have under my command, but I will  _ not risk it _ .  _ Not you. Never you _ .”

Brett stared down at Eddy, wanting to see how badly this command affected him. He knew it was hard, but like he said: He would simply not risk it. Not with this man.

Eddy couldn’t help it - he physically flinched at the restrictions that had been thrown at him. It was in his blood to head out and kill, and even if he knew that Brett had the best intentions in mind, it certainly didn’t help that he also knew  _ this  _ would all take a toll on him. But there was no point in arguing back, was there? Brett’s voice was steady, it was firm; and underlying each word was conviction and determination to have Eddy safe under his wing: Eddy knew for certain that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. Not after the anger, not after the marks, not after anything.

So Eddy resolved to make the most out of it, to make Brett proud even if he was stuck; he let out a sigh and gave Brett a resolute - albeit hesitant - nod. “Fine.” It was a struggle to hide the regret that left a bitter taste in his mouth; it took all his strength and willpower to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but even then, his words were still saturated with it. “I’ll do it.”

“I know you will. Because you are  _ my perfect good boy _ . I knew from the beginning you would do it. Don’t worry though. You will have your fun in the basement. I will not rip apart your hobby. You can train with several different masters to sharpen up even more. To be even better than  _ me _ .”

Brett kissed Eddy softly. “You will be perfect after this. Even more so.”

Even if Brett himself was not sure of his feelings, the emotion in his eyes screamed pure adoration.  _ So, so much _ of it. He lovingly looked at Eddy, taking in his perfect face, perfect eyes and perfect nose. 

“You are my masterpiece, but you will get even better. I will try to make it comfortable for you, I promise. But some things will be sacrificed. Not for long, though. Only until I got them. Then you can choose your next mission freely. Whatever you want, wherever you want.  _ I promise _ .”

His eyes switched between the beautiful eyes of Eddy before he closed them and kissed Eddy again. Yes, that man was his  _ home. _

The disappointment still lingered - Eddy knew it probably would for a few days, but it would have to do. However, it at least felt more  _ comforting  _ to know that Brett was going to do his best to make sure Eddy’s skills remained sharp. He tucked his head under Brett’s chin; his arms snaked around Brett as he pulled him even closer, so close that they were inseparable; his knuckles pressed gently against Brett’s spine as he took another silent breath. Eddy hoped his silence conveyed enough of his gratitude and acceptance - he hoped Brett knew that he didn’t quite trust himself to say anything in response, because they both  _ knew _ that nothing ever compared to the thrill of hunting down a mark, no matter how much they tried to replicate it. 

It was still early; the sun was still up in the skies, just barely beginning to graze the horizon. And yet, everything was beginning to settle into Eddy’s bones - the thrill of proving that he was all for Brett had died down; and the impending  _ stillness _ , the silence in his head, was creeping in. His eyes fluttered shut as he burrowed himself further against Brett, curling-in on himself; there was only a somber tranquility as Eddy’s breathing grew deeper by the second.

“I know, Eddy. I know. I’m sorry and I know.”

Brett cradled Eddy’s head and pressed it onto his neck. He could practically  _ feel _ how the life almost seeped out of the man in his arms. It hurt him too, oh yes, it hurt him so much, but it would hurt even more if he would  _ ever _ lose this man.

Brett lived when his spine was severed; he lived through the hellish training he had gone through when he was just a boy; he survived each and every obstacle, but he knew,  _ he knew _ , he would not survive the day Eddy would be killed. 

To prevent that, he would make the best out of Eddy. The best of the best. Never surprised, never blindsided, never overpowered. He would make sure Eddy could and would survive everything. His hands trembled at the thought of looking one day into Eddy’s lifeless eyes. No, before that happened, Brett himself would die. 

His thought came to a screeching halt. 

What?

_ What? _

He brushed it off, forcefully broke the thought down. No. No his world would be crushed, but he would live - even without Eddy. 

The pain in his chest, the constriction of his heart, the lump in his throat and the burning in his eyes told a different story...

___

The next few weeks were slow and agonizing. Brett could practically  _ see _ how much it burdened Eddy to stay at home and do nothing. In the second week Brett broke down, seeing his favourite person in the world sitting at the window, just looking forlorn outside. He assigned him Ray, a competent, but fairly new agent, and sent him out on a tiny mission. What Eddy didn’t know was that Brett sent his five best men behind them; they were only there to keep Eddy safe, not to interfere. 

This was the routine for over two months. It took longer than expected to dig out the troublemaker, but Brett couldn’t help it. With absolute zero traces it was hard.

They went downstairs for their morning routine:

Eddy got Brett and himself a coffee and a small cake to start their day. All hitmen now knew that Eddy was not to be touched. Not when they saw how tender Brett held Eddy’s hand, how much his eyes shone with adoration and love - not that Brett would finally cave in and say it of course.

It was a morning like any other else. Quiet, calm and like any other one.

The only thing different was a new person, a new patron, who sat in one of the chairs outside. Brett noticed it - of course he did - but he was surrounded by the best hitmen in the world. Nothing would or could happen. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

That dreamworld held until a shot fell, glass broke and Brett saw blood spurting on the counter. 

Blood he swore never to see again unless he forced it from this body.

Blood that should never have been spilled.

It was Eddy’s blood.

Eddy almost didn’t notice it initially; it was a mere pinch on his back, a gentle shock that didn’t register until he watched Brett’s eyes widen and the tension in the air grow until it was tangible; until the entire café had fallen into complete silence. And then came the commotion: all the hitmen breaking out into a scramble, having  _ never _ expected anyone to violate the basic rule of the café (much less in  _ front _ of Brett, even), followed by Eddy resting a hand against the crimson stain on his chest.

While the world around him was moving in a rapid pace, Eddy felt as if he had been moving in slow motion. He glanced at the blood - not just any other blood,  _ his  _ blood - on his skin, before managing a shaky grin back up at Brett in some fickle hope of restoring the color in his whitened face; in some hope of getting his own body to relax at the adrenaline that was beginning to pulse.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Brett’s mouth opened but no sound came out. He saw the blood, he saw Eddy’s surprised face. Everything happened in slow motion but also too fast for him to react.

With unbelieving eyes, he saw Eddy’s legs giving out under him. Brett couldn't get to him. He knew it logically, but that didn’t stop him from stretching out his arm to try and help the younger hitman. 

Someone screamed so loud it hurt his ears. Why would someone else screech like that? Eddy was hurt, Eddy was hurt,  _ Eddy was hurt!!! _

He saw Ray rushing to Eddy’s side, but the man was too late already, Eddy crashed into the ground and the screeching came even louder.

Only then Brett noticed it was him. He was screeching and screaming like a crazy person. But even this knowledge didn’t help. Tears blurred his vision, unable to see, _to see_ _anything._

He took a deep breath and his next scream was goal oriented. “Get him.”

Brett was not sure if he meant the bastard who got Eddy or Eddy himself, but it didn’t matter. The hitmen were professionals. They did both at the same time.

Tears were running down Brett's face and his hand gripped the table, turning the knuckles white. Then everything became dark.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment & a Kudo if you liked it. Thanks :D


	7. Act 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, second to last chapter folks.  
> And We are so not sorry for the cliffhanger last time.  
> Please buckle up, its beginning to get ~interesting~ :D

**Act 6  
**

  
  


_ He had been lucky. _

That was the only thought that reigned as he stared up at the ceiling of their bedroom; the chances that a trained killer would have  _ missed _ their shot was low, and it was arguably a miracle that everything had gone as smoothly afterwards as it did. Eddy wasn’t sure what had happened in the minutes after he had blacked out - Brett refused to talk about it, and he didn’t have the chance to see any of the other killers in the past few hours - or days for that matter - leaving him in the dark and, if he had to be honest, rather dazed at the events.

But he was  _ alive. _ Did anything really matter otherwise?

His eyes were still groggy, as he had just woken up a few minutes ago - in the late afternoon, it seemed, as Brett was nowhere to be seen. He rubbed them gently before struggling to sit up, the bandaged wound on his back flaring at the motion. Legs crossed and eyes still attempting to blink away the haze, he jerked his head toward the door at the sound of locks turning and the wheelchair creaking against the wooden floor.

Brett rolled in, clad in crimson and with the smell of metal. He looked at Eddy and instantly noticed he was awake. Well, that was not very hard to decode when the person was sitting instead of laying on the bed.

“Lay down Eddy.”

The older hitman rolled into the room, leaving the door open. He wished Eddy would sleep some more, then he could have had the chance to shower and change into much more cleaner clothes. But it was what it was and Brett wheeled to Eddy, looking at the man. His lips were pressed thinly together and Brett’s eyes were cold - it took awhile for him to calm down when he came back from the basement. 

“Lay down, I say. How are you feeling?”

Eddy did, first and foremost; he sank back down on the bed and felt relief wash over his limbs at the break that he was giving his back. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of succumbing to  _ any _ sort of pain, having been used to fighting it off and pushing onwards, a habit ingrained into him by every mentor he had - but especially Brett. However, at this moment, he wasn’t sure if he cared at this point, much less Brett.

He could hear the lingering traces of harshness in Brett’s voice. While Eddy had an idea of what exactly Brett was doing outside of the apartment (he didn’t just have an idea, he more than definitely  _ knew _ what was happening), he was never going to acknowledge it explicitly - only through constant obedience and unyielding respect. 

“Not bad, actually.” A slight chuckle to convince Brett that he was  _ fine _ , to get him to stop worrying for a brief second. Perhaps  _ not bad _ weren’t the best words to describe the flickers and flares of pain every time he moved, but Eddy would say anything to calm Brett down. “Thought it would hurt more than this, but I’m surprised at how it  _ almost _ feels like nothing happened.”

Brett shot him a dark look and wheeled towards him. "Don't make me hit you. Nothing is fine and you don't look like one who can pull off a’ not bad’. I want to hear the truth, Eddy."

He took his partner's hand and kissed the knuckles, like he often did. But the kiss was different. It had a different meaning now. At least for Brett. 

"It still will take  _ weeks _ for you to heal completely. So don't try to ease my fears. I talked to the doctors as well." The wheelchair bound killer leant forward and kissed Eddy's cheek. Brett had a very direct conversation with himself. It opened up a few more eyes and doors, which he purposefully ignored beforehand. He had no such luxury anymore. He loved Eddy, that much was clear. But how to tell him was the question. And should he even tell him? His retraining didn't cover that. What if he told him and Eddy would turn on him? It would break and kill him. Figuratively and literally. 

Eddy hesitated, glancing off to the side and avoiding Brett’s hard stare. That was something else that he was left to ponder - the fact that if he thought the silence from pre-incident weeks was bad, these coming weeks would be even worse with how  _ limited _ everything was to Eddy. The only thing that Eddy was craving after his near-death incident was  _ killing _ and relieving himself of the tension in his head. He itched to relax with a blade in his hand and blood dripping over his palms, with the sound of quiet whimpers and cries-

He blinked, snapping himself out of it. No point in dreaming about it when it was too many weeks away. A long sigh escaped from his lips: how truthful was he expected to be? That he only stopped noticing the pain once he fell asleep, but otherwise it only continued to remain and linger? That he was afraid to die initially because he  _ knew _ it would disappoint Brett, but he was now more afraid of the impending stillness? That everything was beginning to compound and snowball in his head, leaving behind a pitiful hole in his stomach? His eyes dulled as he struggled through his own words and thoughts, hoping to figure out exactly what he wanted to say, exactly how he would mask the dejection in his voice.

“It still hurts,” he admitted. “It gets worse when I move around. But it’ll be fine soon, won’t it?”

“Yes. It will get better. It always will, Eddy.”

Brett intertwined their hands and his eyes darkened at the stillness,  _ the lifelessness _ , in Eddy’s eyes. Time for a good message, huh? 

“For now I have a  _ wonderful _ message. That is why I came up in the first place.”

And Brett had. The assassin finally broke down. It took Brett four days, but he broke him down. Torture was not something new for him - far from it - but he had to dig deep, really  _ deep _ , to finally reach a point where the other man was only reduced to a trembling, fearing mess. Three days led up to this point and now he had his answers, the name he wanted so desperately.

_ Toni Wei _ .

That bitch ordered the mark on Eddy. She went to other organisations as well before she finally got the point that no one in Australia would kill Edward Chen. In her desperation she went overseas, to the mainland. There she found someone who had no clue what it would entail, what high risk it was to go after Edward Chen, Brett Yang’s protégé and  _ partner _ . He had no idea about the café, their relationship, their  _ bond _ . But he had now, and it was too late,  _ way too late.  _ Eddy was only alive because of luck - the assassin aimed for Eddy's heart, as Brett predicted. 

Why did she order him to die? Brett didn’t know that for now, but he eventually would. His men - the top ten minus Eddy - were hunting her down and in a few hours or at most days she would be in his basement, bound, gagged, awaiting her fate.  _ Her cruel, cruel fate _ . 

Brett would set an example, like he would do with the assassin. A loud and clear message, so loud and clear even the assassins overseas would notice and couldn’t ignore it. 

_ No one dared to touch what was his _ .

The retired hitman laid his other hand gently on the wrappings where the bullet had sunken into Eddy’s flesh. It was only five centimeters. Five mere centimeters more left and the bullet would have hit Eddy’s heart.  _ His _ heart. Eddy’s heart was Brett’s, as Brett’s heart was Eddy’s. 

The smell became overwhelming and Brett wanted to shower as fast as possible. Blood was already browning and letting his clothes get stiff. But he would give Eddy the name. He promised himself to get to the ground of all this. Maybe she was Eddy’s old flame? Who knew other than Eddy himself? 

Brett looked Eddy directly in the eyes, watching and studying his expression. 

“We have the name of who ordered the killing. It’s  _ Toni Wei _ .”

Eddy frowned at that.  _ Toni _ , a name unfamiliar to his tongue; but  _ Wei _ was a last name that he had heard a few times prior to the incident, too many years ago when he was just starting to get on his feet as a killer. A dim memory flickered in the back of his mind, memories of when he had been  _ overly  _ careless to the point that he didn’t consider the possibility of people walking in during a kill; memories of the one mission, one of his earliest ones, where he had been asked to take out his mark in the house, a mission he should have refused considering his brashness and lack of experience.

Was it a brother? A husband? It was  _ someone _ that was close enough to her and held great significance in her eyes clearly, and Eddy could still recall the exact moment he spun around after letting the blood drain from the corpse, only to see trembling hands and widened eyes, only to see a figure standing at the door with horror that was just beginning to blaze into anger. 

Maybe Eddy had been lucky that his identity wasn’t discovered  _ sooner _ , too - all of his luck had really compounded itself into this one assassination attempt, and he couldn’t explain how grateful he was. 

“Ask her,” he paused briefly, considering his words, “if I had killed a family member of hers… six years ago, I think? Because otherwise, I wouldn’t understand why it was ordered.”

Brett nodded; that was on his list of questions he wanted to ask anyway.

“Of course Eddy. I will.”

Eddy’s eyes gleamed at the comfort that Brett had provided reassurance that he really belonged to Brett - and, of course, reassurance that Brett would truly do anything for Eddy, as long as it was reciprocated. He sank back down into the mattress, letting out a long breath as Brett’s fingers traced around the wound; he could hear the quiet shifting in the wheelchair and the odd look of discomfort in Eddy’s eyes, prompting him to gently brush Brett’s hand off his chest. 

“I know you don’t like being drenched in blood for however long it’s been. Go get washed up, Brett.”

“I will. When I come back I have another surprise for you. You will like it.”

Brett smiled and got up to kiss Eddy’s cheek before settling down on his wheelchair again. He squeezed Eddy’s hand once more before releasing it and wheeling in the bathroom with fresh clothes. 

Yes, the next surprise would help Eddy, he was sure of it. He saw the expression in Eddy’s eyes, could  _ almost  _ feel the bubbling under the skin - he was the same after his injury. But Eddy would be  _ okay _ . He could and would return to his work, whereas Brett was unable to. And Brett was happy, truly happy, for him. The world needed a man like Eddy. He couldn’t help himself as he was looking up into the stream of warm water, dreaming how things would be if Brett was still able to  _ walk _ . Not in front of Eddy, not behind him, but  _ by his side _ . 

They would have made the perfect couple. It would have been the most wonderful dance, each and every assignment, every mark. They would have danced and danced and danced. 

One moment of weakness, of negligence, of  _ carelessness _ , of  _ recklessness _ and everything turned and crashed down. Brett never would have thought he would end up like this. And he didn’t want the same for Eddy, never. Not now not ever. Eddy would die in a chair like his. Brett found ways to cope, to still rise to the top - where he still belonged in his eyes. 

But Eddy, oh his pure  _ Eddy _ , he was destined to be the one on top for real. He was the best killer of their generation and Brett would make sure his damndest he would stay there, become a legend and  _ more _ . Eddy dedicated his world, his  _ life _ to Brett and Brett did the same - he just didn’t know it at that point. Eddy laid himself bare at his feet and when Brett touched him  _ like that _ the first time, there was no going back. Oh how naive Brett was. How dumb, how simple. 

As he dried his hair with a towel and set his glasses on his nose, he knew Eddy needed to know. Yes, Eddy and Brett. Brett needed to say it. Otherwise he would regret it. At one point one of them would die - most likely being killed off - but he didn’t want to leave the world without Eddy  _ knowing _ how he felt. How much Eddy meant to him. That Eddy  _ was _ his world. He would burn everyone and everything down for him.

Brett leant back in his chair and sighed. He never felt  _ so deep _ before. Before Eddy, everything was a game. Fun. A joke. But not with him,  _ Eddy _ . A sarcastic smile was on his lips as he remembered how dismissive he was towards the notion ‘love’. Now he understood why sometimes partners who witnessed their significant other die would choose the same route. If Eddy had died, Brett would have died with him. He would make sure he was avenged - true - but after? Probably take a gun and blast his brain away. He couldn’t even fathom a world without Eddy.

His damp towel was around his shoulders.He was dressed in a white polo shirt with some comfortable sweatpants and bright red socks when he rolled back to Eddy, who was laying in his bed.

Brett drew near and took Eddy’s hand in his.

“Do you want to hear what surprise I have for you, Eddy?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. The bubbling, the nerve flattering, the inner tension would recede from Eddy. He would make sure of it.

Eddy tilted his head toward Brett, a wonder in his eyes at the sudden calm and tranquil in Brett’s voice. He shifted gently to turn toward Brett - there was a sharp pain on his back as he did so - and to get a better view of his face: everything from the sharpness in his nose to his lips, so red that they looked painted with blood. He nodded, each movement slow, as Brett pressed his lips against Eddy’s knuckles for what felt like minutes; Eddy could feel each breath against his skin, Brett’s warmth brushing away the cold. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I thought about it while I was under the shower and also when I was in the basement. I want you to do something, but I don’t want to pressure you too much. If you want - and of course feel like it - you can have the last talk, the kill of the man who tried to kill you. He is still alive - barely, I have to admit - and I would give you the kill as a gift. And when we have that Wei-girl you can be part of the interrogation. If it would please you, I’d also give you the opportunity to kill her as well. Because nothing she will say can change my mind.” Brett pressed another kiss on Eddy’s knuckles as he looked at the latter’s eyes. His beautiful,  _ beautiful _ eyes. Giving away a kill was a  _ huge _ thing for killers - of course it was. It was what they lived for. And for Brett, who had already given up the hunt to go further and give the kill to Eddy, was a substantial thing.

“I know you are not happy being chained to the bed - at least like that - and I want to make it better for you.”

Eddy’s eyes glinted as Brett spoke; he blinked, just to check-in with himself - Brett was sacrificing the final kill in exchange for Eddy’s relief, for the familiar rush of adrenaline that he  _ craved. _ And - he kept blinking, kept making sure that he was hearing correctly, kept holding his breath as he stared up at the ceiling - this was  _ real. _

What was there to say? What words would Eddy even have to say, what conversation would he even want to hold? His hands twitched at the thoughts, the endless possibilities and words that he could spit out: was there even a point in communicating properly when words were washed over with anger and frustration for keeping Eddy  _ trapped _ inside; or would he take more pride in simply ending them without another thought.

He glanced back at Brett, an odd mixture of excitement and guilt; he was certain that these kills held meaning to Brett. Considering the amount of effort he had thrown into breaking this one man, the amount of days Eddy’s eyes shot open to empty sheets, the amount of days he witnessed Brett returning with so much blood on his skin, it didn’t feel  _ right _ to simply steal the kills from Brett for Eddy’s own satisfaction. A frown flitted across his face. 

“Thank you, but,” he hummed, eyebrows furrowing further, “you put all the work into it, organized everything yourself. They’re all yours, Brett; I don’t deserve to take them from you.”

“I am giving them to you, Eddy. I  _ want _ you to end them. I had my fill with the torture, but you had  _ nothing. _ You were laying here, all by yourself, all the days, alone. Because I was busy and you are on strict bed rest. I can see, almost  _ feel _ , how frustrated you are. When I kiss you, I can almost feel the bubbling under your skin. You need it more than I do. I had the pleasure torturing the imbecile who attempted to assassinate you, as I said. His life is yours. If you want to torture him more, do so. If you want to kill him, do so. He is yours, Eddy.”

Brett helped himself on the bed, leaning over Eddy.

“I want you to do it. I want you in red. With his blood on your fingers, face and body. Because you lived, and so he must die. I want you to do it because it is your  _ right _ to do it. I just extracted information for you, the rest is yours to take. And Toni is all yours. She wanted your head on a silver platter. I just want to see you at work, being brilliant and so  _ perfect.  _ I wish for nothing more.”

Eddy took a deep breath; he could almost smell the blood already. Hesitation crossed his eyes for a moment before it grew overwhelmed by his own imagination: a knife in his hand, the quiet whimpers in his ear, the familiar  _ rush _ , the thrill that came with the adrenaline. His gaze clouded over with how close this reality was;  _ all _ he had to do was agree, and everything would revert back to normal, one slow step at a time.

He began to nod slowly, his hands already twitching at the mere thought of it: a glance at Brett and Eddy  _ knew _ that he sensed it too, the restlessness that Eddy had been trying to suppress - or, as Brett worded it,  _ bubbling _ under Eddy’s skin - slowly escaping him. There was a small grin on his lips as he pressed a kiss against Brett’s jaw, ultimately unable to pull back and restrain his own thoughts.

“When?” His voice was a low, rough whisper; the wound on his back tingled at the unsuppressed  _ excitement  _ coursing through his blood. “I’ll take it, then - I’ll take them both for you.”

“Good, my Eddy. You can work on the hitman tomorrow - if, and only  _ if _ \- you are not in that much pain. We will make sure we give you painkillers, but you should not overwork yourself. You can torture, slice and dice him for days. And my best men are working on gathering Toni up - trying not to damage her too much - and bringing her to the basement. I don’t know how long that will take, but I reckon a few days, maybe a week or two. It depends on how good she is in hiding. But we will get her and then she will be served to you.”

Brett kissed him and licked over his mouth.

“And you will be the best boy, revelling in her screams and blood. You will look even better than naked when you are dressed so sharply, so nice, so  _ perfect _ .”

He laid his forehead on Eddy’s, looking him deeply in the eyes. Eddy had been lost in his own reverie; he had been planning out every last move in his head and thinking about how beautifully  _ ravaged _ the body would already be, all thanks to Brett. His eyes never lost that wanderlust, that childish gleam for scarlet - they were all too vivid and crystal clear, prominent even during the most mundane tasks of the day. And then Brett had opened his mouth-

“I love you, Eddy.”

Four words, whispered right against his lips. Four words that sent Eddy freezing in place and his entire imagination creeping to a halt. Declarations of  _ love _ were rare for killers for an obvious reason - they were lucky if they survived past a certain age; lucky if they even  _ had _ the opportunity to retire and slip into a life of peace with their loved ones. Brett had never said it outright beforehand; Eddy never cared, because he knew everything was solely because of their own little situation. The kisses, the sex, the unique treatment was nothing more than a mere  _ obligation _ between the two: they were only rewards for stellar behavior and had never crossed anything beyond that-

His gaze softened after a moment, too quiet for their liking, before returning the gentle kiss-despite Eddy’s infatuation, the fact that he would glance over in the early mornings and see someone who he respected more than anyone in the world, the fact that he would have done anything for Brett, regardless of any obligation, regardless of anything in the known universe. 

“I love you too, Brett.”

“I know, Eddy, I know. But I wanted you to hear it. You deserve it. That is why you deserve the kills as well. I have you, here, in my arms. That is enough.”

Brett kissed him again and again before his arms started to quiver and tremble from the weight he put on them - he would not lay on Eddy for support - and he had to roll to the side. His hand wandered to the wrapping once again, tracing it with his fingertips.

“Please stay alive more than ever, Eddy. The heart in your chest is not yours anymore. It is mine. I will die if you leave this world.”

He pressed a soft kiss on Eddy’s shoulder, careful not to hurt Eddy, and looked in his eyes again.

His mind was finally calm again, calm like it should be. No more whirling thoughts, no more indecisiveness, no more hiding. He was at peace with himself. If Eddy decided to kill him right now, he would not fight back. He said his piece, he was happy. Happy like he wasn’t in a long, long time. 

“I will.” Eddy was resolute; there was a firmness to his voice despite how quiet it was. His own hand travelled up to the bandages, taking Brett’s hand in his and resting them both atop his chest. The steady, everlasting rhythm of his heart drummed under their intertwined fingers. “I’m not going to die anytime soon, especially not to some random amateur. Not even to any professional. I’m not going to die to  _ anyone.” _

Eddy was for Brett, only for Brett; every last inch of his body was for him. At this point, it might as well have been a known law of the universe, something that nobody would dare question. They continued to lay in silence, the only sound to fill the air being their gentle breaths and hums; their hands were still interconnected, both of them holding onto each other and refusing to ever let go. 

  
  


____

  
  


Ravaged felt like an understatement.

The first thing that hit Edward when they arrived at the basement was how  _ dull _ everything was; not even the smell, a rancid mixture of bodily fluids, seemed to bother him at this point since he had missed it so much. He took a sharp breath of the cold air, his lungs prickling with pain as the skin around his wound stretched and flared; this,  _ this _ was what he was most comfortable with, and he would more than definitely take his time as he relished the thick tension and fear in the air.

Brett was right next to him, in safe distance as always, watching intently as Eddy transformed to Edward. Yes, the man was beautiful and oh so perfect. The hard glint entered his eyes, his posture changed from being a little hunched over Eddy to the broad, confident Edward. One could almost think it was a wholly different person, but Brett knew, he  _ knew _ , if he would just breathe Eddy’s name, the man would sink on the floor right next to him, fulfilling his every wish because it was ingrained in him. But now he would stay back, let Edward have the stage and pleasure to deal with the man. Not much was left, that was true, but still, the man could scream. Brett left him his tongue because he needed the name of the mastermind, and he knew how much Edward loved the begs, pleas and screams falling from his victim’s lips.

Instinct kicked in, and it felt as if the entire world had shifted in Edward’s eyes: his vision sharpened, focusing on the flesh and bones that rested in the middle of the wall; he began to twitch and shiver with anticipation as he heard the whimpers; the dim lighting of the basement grew saturated, dripping with color and brilliance. 

And yet, it wasn’t enough for Edward. He took a careful step toward the wall and Brett’s work, kneeling right by his shackled hands as he swiped a finger against the concrete. Dried blood, flaking off in rusted brown, stuck onto his hands. His head was tilted ever so slightly as he brushed it all off, his eyes staring at the particles of blood sliding down and covering his boots; what a boring color to see, absolutely  _ dreadful _ compared to the beauty of fresh scarlet. 

He stood, letting everything truly settle into his bloodstream: the hype, the anger, the frustration, the  _ entire _ bundle of emotions that had piled up in the previous weeks. No need to turn his full attention toward the target just yet - he was going to take his sweet time, make sure that every single one of his actions were deliberate and clean, that behind every mutilation was his anger and restlessness that he had suppressed for too long. 

Brett had done most of the work on Edward’s behalf already, and he took a second to admire the handiwork: the perfect cuts and stabs, carefully placed to avoid accidentally killing the man, was the first thing that his eyes picked up on. His gaze trailed the endless barrage of attacks against the killer’s - no,  _ amateur’s _ skin, festering wounds bound onto every last inch of him. A sigh brushed against his lips at this reminder: ah, how Edward  _ aspired _ to be this clean, this precise with every action. He wasn’t far from it - he knew it, Brett confirmed it - but there seemed to always be more to achieve before Edward was satisfied.

The sound of shaking breaths, resonant against the empty floor, was more than enough to snap Edward out of his admiration. Lights blaring right in the amateur’s face, Edward could see the fear that had been injected into the body - almost a corpse at this point - but it wasn’t at  _ him _ , no. He trailed the line of sight that the pair of quivering eyes was on, a small smirk creeping up on his face as his gaze eventually landed on Brett.

Ravaged didn’t just feel like an understatement; it actually was; it absolutely  _ was _ . Brett had broken the man, ingrained in him the fear and panic every time the wheelchair was near his vicinity. Kneeling down - stifling a flinch at the sudden move - and sliding the knife out of his back pocket, Edward was merely ready to add onto the work, to complement it with another fear.

“Hello, dear.” He prodded the amateur’s cheek with the side of the blade, forcing his eyes away from Brett; in Edward’s own eyes gleamed anger and  _ fire. _ “What is your name?”

Silence, nothing but quivering bones as the amateur continued to struggle and push his head to the side. Edward stifled a snicker: no point in taking his time with the initial attack, no point in pulling off each and every one of his fingers. He was going to make it clear  _ who _ in this room demanded the attention, and he gritted his teeth as he raised the silver blade and swung it down against the wrist. A sickening  _ crack _ greeted his ears, accompanied by a thud as the hand landed onto the ground, the fingers still twitching against the concrete. Fresh scarlet sprayed over the floor, followed by a grueling howl as the amateur’s arm fell to the ground without the shackles holding it up - was it because of the pain, the shock, perhaps both?

Edward grinned. That wasn’t the right question to ask, because it didn’t matter when his ears were being blessed by the sound of human pain

He set down his knife to the side for a brief moment, pulling his tie off - blood came smearing off against his black button-down, not that he cared - and tying it as tightly as he could around the amateur’s forearm. There was no point in taking over for Brett if this  _ body _ would give up on him in a few minutes. Edward spun around, taking a look at the table behind him: weaponry, all cleaned and spotless in the light - nothing that caught his eye just yet, but perhaps it would come in handy eventually.

“So why don’t you answer me now?” He glanced back over, and -  _ perfect - _ met widened eyes that reflected Edward’s wide grin. “Whom do I have the honor of killing on this fine day?”

It was then that he received an answer, stammered out to the point that Edward nearly couldn’t comprehend the words: a tongue flickering past missing teeth and bloodied lips to spit out _Alex_ _Bilesus_ as a reply. Edward’s grin only grew wider after hearing that; an entirely different grin from what Brett was used to, one that still managed its childlike luster despite having nothing behind it but angered bitterness and bile. 

He ran a hand through Alex’s hair, tilting his head back gently - a part of him noticed all the shallow cuts right under his chin, so harmless that they wouldn’t have caused any pain or severed the arteries underneath. It was merely a scare tactic, and while  _ Eddy _ was tempted to turn around and stare at Brett with wonder in his eyes, Edward had grown too concentrated and invested in the kill to risk losing the attention of this amateur. Besides, there was a plan that he wanted followed: Edward was going to make sure that he had the voice of the man who tried to kill him  _ ingrained  _ in his head so he could hear his screams in the nights to come.

He hummed, his voice low and breathy; the grip on Alex’s hair tightened as Edward leaned in, until their noses were pressed right up against each other. “You know exactly who I am, don’t you?”

Brett wheeled forward - still out of reach if something should happen - and calmly picked up the hand of the man. He studied it before he grinned.

“Mine.”

His voice was only a whisper but it didn’t need to be more in the small basement. Brett’s eyes lightened up as the mutilated hitman looked at him, eyes even wider than before. With his trophy on his lap, Brett smiled a small soft smile the  _ man  _ has seen so many times now. It always brought more pain than he could handle. Instinctively the man twichted in Edward’s grip, wanting to get away even though Brett was sitting more than two meters away, calmly playing with the severed hand hand and was visibly not armed. 

Edward stifled a smirk at Brett’s whisper, but his concentration refused to slip, and he  _ refused _ to let the attention divert from his sharpened eyes. A flick of the wrist, and the knife was back under his prey’s chin, reuniting with the lines of red that marked his neck. Edward dragged the blade up slowly, nicking Alex’s skin and spilling a thin streak of blood across what was left - if there even was anything - of his shirt.

“I’ll reword the question for you, dear.” He clicked his tongue as the man in his hold fidgeted under the familiar sensation of cold metal burying itself into his flesh. “Are you aware that you have tried to kill the partner of the top handler in the world?”

Edward’s eyes narrowed at the silence, at the lack of a proper reply - but that was an answer in and of itself, and he wasn’t surprised by it.  _ No, _ whoever it was that targeted him was entirely unaware of the social dynamics in the assassin world; and somehow, they had just lucked out to find a person that was dumb enough to take the job on. Toni and Alex  _ both _ \- and probably too many others out there - only ever saw  _ Edward Chen _ as another name; they didn’t sit a little taller, have a shiver running up their spine at the name; they didn’t think of the name as  _ belonging _ to someone else; they didn’t realize that he was so far up in the unspoken hierarchy that to mark him (and, unintentionally, Brett as well) was a death sentence.

_ Enough conversation. _ He sighed, throwing the knife out from under Alex’s chin and letting go of his hair. His spine rolled back, accompanying the pain that he had now grown familiar with, and with it came a flicker in his eyes as he felt heat begin to burn behind them - he was  _ angered _ , and this was the perfect time to let it all go. Don’t keep a single drop of it in, make sure this body, this  _ excuse _ of a human being knew exactly how tired he was of being stuck in this cafe, how thrilling taking revenge on him was.

He raised his knife and began to act, utilizing any and everything he found around him - the cleaver on the table grew to be a favorite of his, as he tucked his knife back into his pocket. He took it all in, every last drop of it. He watched the walls glaze over with a fresh layer of blood; he took pride in listening to the screams that reverberate throughout the near-empty basement; he let himself be drenched in so much  _ red _ that there was nothing he could see afterwards, nothing he could smell but the metallic tang of blood.

It was a slow kill, even for Edward - and yet, when it was all over and there was nothing left to the corpse, he couldn’t help but crave  _ more. _ Etiquette no longer existed as Edward continued to slice away at the still body; he wasn’t satisfied at how some parts of him were still whole, how you could look down from the stairs and still tell that this was  _ once _ a living person. He wanted to grind the body until there was absolutely nothing other than pieces of rotting flesh and shattered bone; Edward was going to keep tearing at it until someone could look at it and say, with an unwavering confidence, that the bloodied remains belonged to an  _ animal. _

It was savage, it was cruel how he continued to hack away at the body; and even when he had to step back from the painkillers wearing off and the wound in his back suddenly taking full control of his actions, Edward was nowhere near satisfied with what he had done. But he supposed it would have to do for now, as he stood back up with trembling legs and adrenaline still overflowing in his bloodstream. Blowing away a stray strand of hair in his face, he took a step away from the bleeding wall and glanced back over at Brett.

“I want to leave the body here.” The thrill, the anger hadn’t left his voice - it was still low and ready to burst out into full-on flame at any second. “I want her to see what fate has in store for her for even trying to touch  _ your _ heart.”

“Then we will cool the room for her arrival. She will not be lonely upon arriving here.”

Brett was rolling back to Eddy, gently taking the cleaver from his hand and putting it back on the table. His partner did quite a job on this one - not that he had not expected it. He was proud of Eddy, so proud. But also concerned. The wound was not healed, not by a long shot, and he hoped it didn’t reopen. His eyes raked over Eddy’s body before settling into a gentle smile. What was done, was done. They would deal together with the consequences. But for Eddy’s sake he hoped nothing had gotten worse. The man would probably scream and fight his way out if he had to lay another day more than necessary in the bed. Brett pulled a handkerchief from his pockets and wetted it with the content of a nearby water bottle. He motioned for Eddy to bend down a bit and the killer obliged. Gentle,  _ oh so gentle _ , Brett wiped down the blood and the gore away before kissing Eddy.

“Like I said:  _ perfect _ . I wish I could take you, but you need your rest. Let’s go upstairs, get you washed up and tucked back in the bed, hm?”

Eddy nodded, a blissful smile on his face; it was almost as if a switch had been turned off in him, as if he was returning right back into docility and dependency despite the fact that he was still covered in endless blood. “Of course. Let’s go.”

He had never felt better as they headed back into the apartment - the kill was a breath of fresh air after weeks of falsified satisfaction. It was a familiar thrill, a preview of what was to return to Eddy soon, and dear  _ god _ , he couldn’t wait for when he could start throwing himself into the field once again. If anything, tearing the amateur apart only strengthened how much he wanted to return; and if anything, Eddy simmered further at the realization that the only thing holding him back - and thus causing Brett pain at Eddy’s despair - was the bullet wound, all thanks to one person.

He made a silent resolve as the hole in his back continued to flare and burn - he was going to make her  _ pay _ for this. Once Edward stepped into the basement, once he was greeted by the scent of rotting blood and flesh and peeling burgundy on concrete walls, the concept of  _ mercy _ was to be completely eradicated from his vocabulary. His hands twitched, albeit prematurely, as he pondered and planned, his eyes glazed over as the elevator doors slid open.

Brett looked at his partner and took his trembling hand. He knew why it was that way and he knew what would happen when they actually met the Wei girl. She would not stand a chance. Not that she ever had one, but now her fate was even more cemented. His eyes darkened as he looked up to Eddy. That man was his and he could not hold him in intimacy because of her stupidity.

Not in a sexual way, but him sitting on the couch in his office, bringing him coffee and a small snack with a smile, having him at his side, having him just there. He missed Edward and Eddy at his side. Brett lifted the bloodied hand and placed a kiss on the bruised knuckles. Then they went in the elevator, going up to his apartment. Their apartment..

“You did good, Edward. So, so good. And now be  _ a good boy _ and wash up in the shower. I will redress your wound. Should I call for the doctor as well?”

It was easy to just refuse and brush off his wound - and  _ god _ , did Edward want to do that for the sake of returning sooner into the field. But he also knew that it wasn’t the best idea, considering how Brett’s eyes seemed to be watching his every reaction, his every shift to adjust to his back. He was still running on adrenaline: it continued to race through his blood, relentless as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the hall, and reducing the pain in his wound to nothing but a slight prick after the previous flare. 

The issue with murdering while wounded was that there was no way to tell if certain movements had reopened the lesion or not: he could barely feel the pain - in fact, he almost felt  _ immune _ from it; and if he was bleeding from the back, there was no way he could tell whose blood was whose, considering how he was soaked in it from head to toe.   
“Maybe.” A sly, sheepish grin creeped up his face. “I might need them.”

They slipped into the hallway and then the apartment, Eddy taking a quick shower to try and wash off the feeling of crimson clinging to his skin - he watched the water, more pink than it was clear, swirling down the drain, taking with it some of the thrill and excitement he held prior. Clean hands emerged from the shower, devoid of any evidence that he had just brutally murdered a man, as they reached for a towel, and he was out in no time with the roll of bandages cradled in his arms.

“Is the doctor here yet?” He blinked for a moment as he stepped back into the bedroom. “Should I let you redress it first or just wait?”

“I called for them. They should be here any second. Let me see it first, Eddy. Sit on the bed then I can take a look.”

Brett rolled to the bed and sat down on it. The doctors wouldn’t take long, but he wanted to make sure of Eddy’s condition first. He knew his way around a gunshot wound and he had dressed and redressed Eddy a lot of times since the incident.

“Do you want to talk about what happened in the basement?”

Because Edward ran rampage. It was simply that. Brett didn’t hold it against him, rather he wanted to speak about it so that they could avoid it next time.

His hands slid over the hardened muscles up to Eddy’s neck, gently tracing the larynx with a finger, before cupping his chin and forcing Eddy to look down so he could kiss him. Eddy felt Brett’s lips right on his, so soft and comforting, as his hands continued to tap away at the bed and waited for the excess adrenaline to wear off. Breaths still a little rushed, eyes still a little widened, Eddy shrugged and slipped his head out of Brett’s hand.

He had lost control of his methodical actions as the kill progressed, instead, resorting to killing a corpse and taking pride in doing so - not that he would take it back: the anger was on the verge of being satisfactory. He was nearly satisfied at the blood, at the restlessness that was feeding off of the pulsing thrill, but there was more that was  _ missing _ . 

“I grew tired.” Eddy didn’t need to say what he was tired of, but the words were audible to all -  _ tired of waiting, tired of resting, tired of having sharpened knives that kept begging to be used on supple flesh and skin.  _ “Maybe it would have been different if it was someone else, but I want to make sure the people who are responsible get exactly what they deserve.”

A deep breath. “It’s not happening after Wei. They just deserve so much worse than a normal kill. Right?”

“You are right, Eddy, this will never happen again. You were fine in the beginning, but then your control slipped. I understand how hard it is for you, but this can not happen in the future. You are such a good killer, such a good boy, but if you can not control yourself, then what is your worth? I will leave you however one chance to show me you are capable of the things I want to see from you: Ask me. Ask me next time to go wild. Show me you are in control and then when you feel still in control you will ask me. And you will accept my decision, do you understand?”

Brett’s kisses were still soft, but the hand in Eddy’s hair was not. He bent the neck beautifully and painfully backwards, biting in the larynx. 

“Remember who you are speaking with, Eddy. Remember who I am, Edward. And I dare you defy me, knowing what that would entail, my love.”

Brett’s voice was ice cold in the same way his soft kisses over the sensible area were warm. One could feel the love, but also the coldness  _ exuded  _ from him. Eddy should think about what Brett had to endure for years now. He had not been on hunts for years, he could only move people like chess pieces, and right after his injury not even that. It took him weeks, months even, to fight against this. His second nature. 

_ A wild animal is the most dangerous when cornered. _

And Brett was cornered the whole time. Bound on a chair, unable to move freely. But deadlier than ever. He perfected his languages, his speech pattern, his steely control, his precision. Everything he could think of and then  _ more _ . He would never be prey again and Eddy would never make prey out of him, even if he loved that man to hell and back. 

He increased his pressure and forced Eddy to lay down, with him on top. Then he raised his head and the cold expression was back, the hard stare, the emotionless face. 

“I love you. But don’t you dare to think you have more leeway than others because of that.”

His voice was dripping with ice. Newbies cowered when he used that voice, the expression or anything other than his usual friendly smile. Even smaller than anyone, he was a force no one dared to mess with.

“Control. Is. Everything.”

Eddy shivered at the words; his head was held right against the bed, his body frozen as he simply  _ lay _ there at Brett’s mercy. Yes, that was his mistake - he had lost control of his own frustrations and had decided to let them all out. He had slipped back into his messier self, the past self that Brett had worked so hard to fix, and despite the satisfaction that had settled in earlier at the pure destruction Edward had left behind, with it came a frustration that he had disappointed Brett.

_ Obedience _ \- that was what Eddy had ingrained in his blood, the one trait that refused to be wiped away. It tied into his self-worth and his own view of himself: there was absolutely nothing he would dread more than the loss of hope in Brett’s eyes and being seen as having reverted back to a beginner again. And even then, Eddy knew he would do anything to regain that worth. It didn’t matter how, it didn't matter what he had to do or go through in order to satisfy Brett and, therefore, himself - as long as he was able to do so in the end. 

Because, after all, the end  _ justified _ the means, didn’t it? It was something that Eddy had figured out on his own when he was younger: that it didn’t matter  _ how _ he killed, as long as he finished it. And how oddly fitting it was now; if Brett had decided to retrain Eddy again, he wouldn’t care how much pain he was put under as long as it was worth it in the end.

“I understand. I’ll ask next time. I’ll show that I’m not rusty and  _ can _ control myself.” Eddy hitched a breath - Brett was still staring, his eyes still boring into Eddy’s soul. When was the last time that look had been directed at Eddy specifically? He couldn’t remember, and with that came another bout of disappointment. “I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time - I  _ know _ I can.”

“Yes, I know, Eddy. I know you can do better. I am  _ sure _ you can do better next time.”

His hand left the soft strands of hair and Brett's whole demeanor became warm again. He placed another kiss on Eddy’s lips when the front door opened and a voice called.

“Hello? I am Dr. Shibari. May I enter?”

Disgruntled Brett broke their connection and grabbed for the gun beneath the pillow - cliche he knew, but it  _ was _ a perfect place to keep a weapon - and pointed it at the only door leading to the hallway.

With a sweet, velvet-like voice he answered: “Come on in, Dr. Shibari. We are in the bedroom.”

The man came and bowed to the pair. He was a new doctor, not used to all this, but he was a good doctor. He approached the bed, looking at his patient - the killer on his back on the bed. Well that was strange. Were the two a pair? Because that position they were in… Then he remembered that Mr. Yang was bound to a wheelchair. No, they couldn’t be. 

His eyes racked up and down on Eddy’s body; he saw him the first time in that state of non-clothing. When he was finished he looked up to meet Brett’s ice cold gaze. Slowly the retired hitman slipped back in his wheelchair, the gun still pointing at the doctor.

“How about you come here, Dr.? To assess the  _ wound _ .”

Shibari balked at Brett’s tone - firm and commanding without ever needing to even raise his voice; there was a presence behind the words that made it  _ clear _ that he was on the verge of overstepping a boundary, that if he tried to do anything that wasn’t his job, there would be a bullet in him within seconds. “I- Of course, Mr. Yang.”

He made his way over to the bed, wondering exactly what he applied for when picking up this job - and how were the other doctors so relaxed in such a place? The bag was set down by him and Eddy, and he was more than certain to be careful with all of their interactions - he made sure that only the tips of his fingers touched Eddy’s skin and that he stated his every intention: “Let me help you sit up, Mr. Chen.” 

With each passing second came the return of the doctor’s calm, collected demeanor - the situation grew easier for him to work with once he started to dive into checking the wound and questioning the patient. Fever, drainage from wound, difficulty breathing? He took a mental note of the answers, feeling a faint sense of relief that this was more than likely one of the easier cases of today: no, a little, and only pain every time he took deep breaths - fine, especially considering where the bullet had hit in the first place.

“You are aware though,” he put on a pair of gloves, frowning at the slight opening at the wound’s surface, “that you should be on rest - nothing strenuous, nothing stressful - at least for the next couple of days? It certainly isn’t good news, especially considering your occupation, but you  _ do _ have to take it easier than what you’re doing now.”

Eddy broke out into a slight, sheepish smile - nothing was discussed about  _ how _ the wound began to reopen. “I, uh, will keep that in mind next time. I won’t be too rash, and just take things slowly instead.”

The last part was added purely for Brett: both of them  _ knew _ for a fact that they were going against medical advice by letting Eddy get back into the kills prematurely, even if it was only two. He hoped that it was some sort of reassurance for both of them through how vague it was; Eddy was going to take it easy  _ while _ indulging himself in her screams, and he was going to make sure of that.

Brett nodded to the doctor, whose eyes instantly zoomed in on him when he moved.

“Yes, I will  _ take care _ of this problem, Doctor. Thank you for your advice.”

He watched the doctor wrapping Eddy up - keeping his hands only so long on Eddy as was deemed necessary and practically ran out of the apartment after saying goodbye. Brett calmed down fairly quickly after that and put the gun on the nightstand.

“Do you want to eat something or drink? I think you need pain meds - even if the doc gave you a shot for it. I don’t want you in more pain than necessary.”

Because pain came with the job of course. So it was never fully avoidable. But they could reduce it. 

Eddy nodded. “That would be nice.”

There was always a moment where Eddy had to get used to the inflexibility of bandages, and how it restricted his every movement - along with the pain, of course - with how it clung onto his back. He stood up, taking a short breath, before heading over to their closet to slip a shirt on; there was a tightness around his wound thanks to the new sutures that had been applied, and he could more than definitely feel it with every action he made.

“What are you thinking, then?” Considering how he had been between only two locations for the past few days - the apartment and the basement, never risking heading anywhere else - Eddy wasn’t expecting anything at all, no matter how much he itched to see some of the other killers.

“I thought maybe we would go down in the café and then to the lovely Asian restaurant down the street. They have wonderful food and all of your colleagues go there as well. I want to inquire if they are interested in either collaborating with my establishment or if they prefer a take-over. I think a restaurant is something I should have as well. Not only sweet stuff and sandwiches, but also some good cuisine. I prefer Asian cuisine, so I thought I would try them. But first come here, Eddy.”

He waved the man closer and took his hand.

“On your knees, boy.”

Brett laid the softly trembling hand on his hard dick.

“I think you can  _ show _ me your appreciation of me giving up the kill; the lengths I go for, just for you.”

It grew into a second instinct: sinking down onto the ground at Brett’s command, eyes gleaming at the  _ opportunity _ to please; the excitement that he held about being able to step out into the open air later tonight, the gratitude that he held for Brett sacrificing the kill all accumulated into blood rushing through his ears and a gentle flush on his cheeks. 

There was no point in taking his time: Eddy was grateful for Brett and everything that he had done, and he was going to show  _ all _ of his appreciation for the past year by giving Brett exactly what he wanted. Nimble fingers moved to undo the zipper and take out Brett’s dick. Hands trembling as they rested on Brett’s thighs, Eddy took the older’s dick into his mouth; his tongue swirled around the tip, covered in pre-cum, and widened eyes surveyed every single one of Brett’s reactions as he slowly began to set his pace.

Eddy pushed Brett’s legs further apart with slender hands, his face right up against Brett’s shirt; the lingering scent of blood and metal from earlier greeted Eddy, forcing a shiver out of him and reminding him of how much he had missed killing, how he wanted to give  _ everything _ he had for Brett - because Brett deserved it all, didn’t he? 

(The answer was easy. Brett did, and Eddy would do anything to give everything in the known universe to him.)

The flush on his cheeks grew deeper; his fingers began to leave faint imprints through Brett’s pants with how hard Eddy was pressing; Eddy took in more of his dick and felt satisfaction flooding through his entire body at the moan that greeted his ears, at the hand that had found its way into his hair. A gentle tug, the sound of a sharp inhale and teeth gazing against the foreskin - he glanced up only to see  _ pleasure _ written all over Brett’s expression, only to see beads of sweat collecting under his chin and the bob of his Adam’s apple with every swallow.

Another moan, and Brett’s dick was right against the back of Eddy’s throat; he stifled a gag, occasionally pulling back to take another breath - the fading scent of blood was a  _ blessing _ to Eddy - and let his tongue trail around the shaft. Every reaction from Brett pushed Eddy to go faster, to see  _ more  _ of them - he felt a shiver travelling down his spine at Brett pulling at his brown locks; he hummed at the sight of Brett’s free hand gripping the chair.

His own breaths were rushed and shallow, his knees digging into the carpet as he sped up bobbing his head; everything had slipped out of his mind - the kill, Wei, the sharp pain in his back - until the only thought left in there was Brett. A light tap on the back of his head, a soft notice that Brett was on the verge of cumming, and soon enough, Eddy was swallowing every last drop that Brett gave him, pulling his head back to wipe his mouth on bare hands.

There was  _ more _ that Eddy wanted to show: a mere blowjob wasn’t enough for Eddy, wasn’t reflective of the endless adoration and love he held for Brett, and he frowned at the pain that was holding him back from doing so. Still on the ground, his cheeks a bright red and white noise still flooding his ears, Eddy managed a small smile.

“I can do more next time, when everything is better,” he promised, the smile growing into a wider grin at the mere thought of what awaited after recovery. “But was that alright, sir?”

Brett’s breathing calmed down as he watched the boy - yes, Eddy was his  _ boy _ , while Edward was his  _ man _ \- cleaning his dick and then tucking him in. The bright shining eyes, full of adoration and  _ love, _ concentrated on him. Ah, he really loved him.

The man laid his hand on Eddy’s cheek and stroked it with his thumb. 

“It was good, Eddy. Wonderful. When you are not hurt anymore, you can show me your  _ ‘better’ _ . But now get back on your feet. You need something to eat. I will just freshen up quickly, then I will join you.”

With a last soft kiss on Eddy’s cheeks - which he bent down for - Brett rolled himself to his wardrobe and then into the bathroom. They would have a wonderful night and he would make sure of it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now you have a sappy feeling from it. They deserve it (in our opinion)   
> We will see us only one more week for Red Carnation, then it's finished. I hope you had a swell time.  
> Please please love for us in the comments and kudo section :D
> 
> Until next Wednesday!


	8. Act 7 (The End)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter folks. It was a wild ride and I loved it. more in the end A/N
> 
> Just please keep in mind, this is an assassin-au. Blood will be spilled and things will turn ugly.  
> Thanks.

**Chapter 8 Act 7  
**

  
  


It took three weeks. 

Three whole weeks to find and lure that Wei-girl out from hiding. But finally they had her. Brett almost couldn’t contain his excitement. Eddy was healing up very, very nicely and was almost top fit by now. Only a mere few weeks of non strenuous activity, like going overboard with killing or workouts, and he would be cleared to be on the field again.

He got a message on his phone that they put her in one of the institution’s vans, ready to be transported to them. 

He instantly messaged Eddy that he should come into his office - Eddy was being nice once again and getting food for them. It was almost 8pm, so the café was only filled with known faces. He wanted to see her reaction upon entering the basement where her little, but useless  _ helper _ was in, as he promised Eddy. They would transfer her a bit later to another room so that could be cleaned up. Eddy might get the kill, but the torture was his.  _ His alone _ .

Of course he would step back after he was satisfied to let Eddy have her too, especially the kill but he wanted something from her as well. Not only information, but the  _ satisfaction _ of seeing her face and then the moment of realisation that she would not get out of it alive. That small moment when the light dimmed in their eyes and something broke in them. Brett was still a killer, and he  _ loved _ those moments. He loved them differently than he loved Eddy, surely, but he couldn’t help but envision sometimes: his lover, bound and gagged in the basement, and then  _ this _ moment. Of course he would never do it, but two of his most loved things together?  _ Yes. _

_ Yes. Yes. _

He shook his head to clear some of his thoughts. Eddy felt good enough now, he rarely had flares of pain anymore and was gently doing some very light workouts. They still had no sex as of yet. Brett wanted the green light from the doctors. Dr. Shibari was a nuisance, still, but he learned very quickly that Eddy was nothing he could try out, so the relationship was a strict doctor-patient one at this point. Which Brett liked more. It was hard to get a different doctor and they always needed ones.

A knock on the door, and Eddy stepped in with a bag of takeout and a blissful, unaware smile. The Australian chill was beginning to settle in, and while it certainly wasn’t as cold as other cities, it was cold enough for Eddy to bundle himself up in layers. He set the bags down by Brett’s desk, taking his scarf off and draping it over the cushioned chair. 

“You said that you had important news?” He hummed, pulling out the boxes of food and setting it down - he was careful to not spill anything over the papers on the desk. “What is it?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to spoil the food. Let’s eat first, then I will tell you. Don’t worry, it’s good news.” Brett eyed the take out containers - he had sent out Eddy to get what he wanted and so far, he came home with the same containers every time - the one chinese place they went weeks ago. And yes, it was that again. But the quality of the food was good, the portions nice and now that he was the owner of it - not that Eddy knew this - he would strive to amp it up. Better ingredients were bought on his behalf while the prices were stable. Brett pushed his laptop and documents aside and opened the container Eddy placed in front of him.

“Hmmm, chicken with vegetables and fried rice. Almost as good as hotpot. On that note, we should eat hotpot the next time. Maybe tomorrow or the day after that. What are your thoughts on that?”

The retired hitman was engaging Eddy in a soft conversation, knowing fully well that his mind was sharp as a knife and would pounce on the slightest chance to redirect the conversation to the surprise. But Brett wouldn’t let him. It was good exercise for Eddy’s language and conversation skills, even for torture it was a perfect little training. So he would keep that up. Even if it frustrated Eddy sometimes a bit. With a little bit more, Eddy would be as good as Brett was now and then the fun could really begin.

Eddy blinked - this was odd, to be greeted by a surprise and then to have it be withheld; it was strange to listen to Brett’s voice, slathered in nonchalance, as he switched topics like it was nothing. But he wasn’t going to do anything in defiance, was he? Maybe this was all just a game of patience, a way for Brett to keep Eddy on his feet. He flipped open one of the rice containers, folding it open and sliding it over to Brett. 

“I think tomorrow would be a good idea,” he mused. “Which place are you talking about? The one downtown, or…?”

Brett took some of the rice and grinned. 

“Maybe the one two blocks over? I like their interior more and they are quite nice. The elderly couple who owns it are such good people. We should support the locals more than big food chains anyway, Eddy. We need them more. And of course, they are far more easily bought out and turned into a business of mine. I got the ownership of this restaurant, by the way. This is good news, but still not the surprise. What I would say is more important to you. Anyway, “ Brett tried the food and yes, it was delicious as always, “Let’s dig in, Eddy. You will need all the strength you have, my dear. We have a lot to do later. Well, you have. Me? Only a little.”

The man grinned and licked his lips to take the sauce with him. 

“Then we will go to the doc, maybe he will clear you? That would be wonderful, don’t you think?”

With vigour he was digging into the food, gently taking out the soft but crispy chicken and the warm but crunchy vegetables. Yes, a good choice to make his own. 

He had big plans for the future. He wanted to make the whole block safe for the hitman. Not only safe, but secure. The rule would expand to more and more locations, giving the hitmen a place to take a breather, to find peace if they needed to and had the pretty money for. His own wealth was good even before Brett inevitably retired from the active business, but it tripled in the first year and now tenfold after only three years, so he could expand more. His dreams grew bigger as his money grew. He remembered some days and night in shabby hotels, sketchy bars and the feeling of being always on his toes. He would change that. He planned to buy a hotel, convert everything there to his wishes. But for that he needed even more money; hotels were not cheap to come by after all. But for now he would focus on expanding. Then he would probably try to weasel into the police so the killers could hunt more effectively. But that was all so far, far away.

Brett smiled. Yes, his plans were big and risky, but where money was were people who had no conscience. Like he, like Eddy, like all his other patrons. They were the epitome of that. The pinnacle. 

He took a mushroom and looked at Eddy before eating it. The man still wrinkled his nose when he saw some while Brett could not be bothered by it. 

Brett observed the man sitting in front of him. He was more relaxed, more calm these days. He hoped it would continue to be there even if he took on jobs again.

_ Huh?  _ What was there to do nowadays, where Eddy had to have all his strength? His curiosity had been piqued for some time, but it was now beginning to reach new levels as he dug into his own food; there was nothing else he could think of but this and what the surprise could have been - most certainly, they were interconnected, and he wanted to figure it out for himself. 

He poked at a piece of chicken, eyes glazed over - both from trying to put together the surprise, and also from the thought of being  _ cleared.  _ While the restlessness had begun to die down as he learned to grow occupied with other aspects of the cafe, he still itched to get back into the field; it was an instinct that simply couldn’t be suppressed anymore. Maybe some part of him was grateful for the experience, grateful that he was given a mere sample of what Brett had undergone at some point: it was during these past few weeks where the respect he held for his partner had exponentially increased, to the point where Eddy was no longer certain if it could climb higher. 

“That would be nice.” A grin, wide and childlike, spread across his face. “But what was it that I would have to do later? Management? I can help with some of that; you know I’m not great at it though.”

“Don’t be so impatient, dear. I told you it’s a surprise. And don’t worry, you will  _ love _ it. I promise.”

Brett’s grin widened. Yes, Eddy had a lot to learn when it came to communication. If he were a bit faster, he would know what this was all about by now. But Brett was happy it was the way it was so he could take his time to tease and taunt Eddy, watching the boy turn and twist and be his younger self; a self who he didn’t need to kill to get information, just like a child sometimes. Brett loved seeing that on Eddy. A childlike trait paired with his wonderful toothy grin and the sparkling of his eyes; it was his second favorite expression on Eddy. The first one was the cold, thin smile, the crazy burning in his eyes and the soft humming of classical music Eddy did when he was deep into his head when he killed, painting everything red. 

Not the slaughter he did with that  _ amateur; _ but the effective, precise killing he trained Eddy in. Yes, that was his favourite picture of the man.

They finished up not much later and Brett waved the man to his side, holding up his phone.

“Look, Eddy. Time for Edward to come out of his trance, right?”

There was only a message opened, with three simple words. But these words were more than enough. 

_ ~We have her~ _

The number was an unknown one, but that didn’t matter. Only three simple, all too innocent looking words.

“What do you say, Edward? Do you want to have fun tonight?”

The curiosity, burning a hole in his gut and tearing him apart as he awaited answers, was finally satisfied at the surprise - everything, from the restlessness to the slight impatience that Eddy held moments prior to this was beginning to be  _ worth it.  _ His eyes narrowed; already could he feel the blade back in his hand, the chill of the basement, and the screams greeting his ears; a sharp inhale and he could already smell the rotting corpse and  _ blood _ clinging to his hair and skin. 

What a gem: three simple words and Eddy’s grin had changed into the tight-lipped smile of Edward; three words and Edward was drumming his fingers against the desk, a steady rhythm that fit his pounding heartbeat. The pain in his back had dulled some time ago, but he could feel a phantom of it flare back up, reminding him exactly what he was doing this for - he craved revenge for trying to take him away from the field  _ and  _ Brett. 

“Oh, of course.” His eyes glinted - underlying his voice was the simmering anger, the type that he  _ knew _ he would have control over as promised. “I can’t wait, Brett.”

“But you will have to. At least a small, tiny while. We will go up to the apartment, get the doc, and then hear what he has to say. And then we will change. I will just implement one tiny rule tonight, which I know you will do good on and follow to the point. Because you will be good tonight, wouldn’t you?”

Brett’s voice didn’t even leave room for an argument. He and Eddy knew it was more of a command than an actual question. What he said would be  _ done _ . And he would see to it being executed at 100%. So what other choice had Eddy other than nod? Right, none.

So they went upstairs, Brett called the doctor and everything happened like he said it would. They were clad in all black tonight as they entered the basement. 

“She will be still in the van, I want you to be a nice, quiet decoration. We will see her being brought in, but she will not see us. We will enter after they bound her. Maybe she is drugged, maybe not. It depends on how much she struggled beforehand. Let’s see, right?”

Brett took Edward’s hand and stroke over the back. 

“Obey Edward. Only do what I tell you, do you understand?”

They went over this in the apartment already, but Brett made sure Edward knew it. This was important. For him, for Edward, for them. 

He nodded again. The high-neck collar of his shirt seemed to be tight around his neck as he swallowed and stepped closer to Brett. Edward didn’t quite trust himself to speak, but he managed to mumble out an “I understand” despite the nerves and excitement. His own heartbeat louder than the waves roaring in his head, Edward attempted to calm himself down by taking comfort in the thumb traveling over the back of his hand, to no avail. 

They waited: each second felt like an hour to Edward as he clasped Brett’s hands, occasionally squeezing it gently in order to confirm that this was actually happening - Edward was going to see the same person who ordered to kill him, a privilege that many dead killers never had. And not only that, but he would be  _ granted _ the opportunity to kill them for even daring to do so. He was going to make this go as smoothly as possible, and he trusted everything that Brett had told him before: he shut his eyes and reaffirmed that he was going to be as obedient as he possibly could that night. 

Then, the door swung open. 

Petite - that was the first word that popped into Eddy’s head when his eyes landed on her, being lifted through the air by one of the other killers. His feet were frozen against the ground, rooting him to the basement floor; she looked as if she was barely conscious with how  _ limp _ her body was, but Eddy knew better than to break a command; he knew better than to take a step forward for a closer look. He wondered if she was registering the gift that he had left, the putrid scent of rotten flesh. He glanced over at Brett, taking in the look in his eyes - he wondered if she knew what was coming for her. 

Of course she knew nothing. But if she had a brain and not a lot of air in her skull, she would know what would happen. And after one glance,  _ why _ . 

The girl came slowly to her senses, and the first one to assault her was the smell. Then the visuals. And then she just screamed. Brett and Edward were behind a glass wall, watching all that unfolding. Brett snickered.

“Her cries are not that annoying. I will enjoy hearing her scream. But now she shall see us.”

The rooms were connected through a two-way-mirror, so as long as it was dark, she couldn’t see them. With a tiny flick of his fingers the light in the room they were in, turned-on.

“I will not go into that dirty ass room and you will not either. She will be deposited in another room. The head of her  _ friend _ will be coming with her. It’s preserved in a huge jar. It took too long to find and lure her, Eddy. I’m sorry you cannot go in there. You will get sick.”

Brett flicked the lights off as he noticed that the woman -  _ girl  _ \- saw them and turned to Edward.

“Are you fine with it?”

The satisfaction that settled in Edward’s gut the second he saw the terror and confusion alighting her eyes was enough for now - he nodded, pleasure evident in his gaze as he watched her struggle against the restraints and try to escape, somehow, somewhere. The unrecognizable body next to her was simply a message, and clearly, since the message seemed to have more than definitely reached her, Edward was more than ready to move on. 

They were back to standing in darkness, Edward continuing to watch her reaction: her mouth agape, the lower lip trembling - he was certain that even in that second, she had managed to catch a quick glimpse of him. And  _ god _ , were the bewildered looks and panicked gazes such wonders to see - it took some time for the look of realization to dawn on her face, followed by another wave of quivering fear. Edward let out a long sigh at the sound of her continuing to struggle against her restraints. 

He nodded. “I’m more than fine with it. It’s a good idea - are we heading there now?”

“Simply to the next room. She will be brought in. I want the first slice, you get the last. Just be a good boy, Eddy, and don’t say a word. I want to talk to her first. I promise you, it will not take long.”

He lifted Edward’s hand and kissed the back of it. He was dead serious now. Brett wanted her screaming, so loud her voice would give out. But they had time. Brett would not let Edward end her today, oh no. She would be tortured for weeks - if possible. As many weeks as Eddy was bedridden and then some more. Everyday they would visit her. Sometimes only Edward, sometimes only Brett, maybe together a few times. Until she was broken in mind, body and soul. Then she could go out with a blast of fireworks. But now it was only the beginning. And that would be terrifying enough for the little slut.

The retired hitmen rolled out of the room, Edward right on his feet. They transferred to a room where a chair was placed right in the middle. No shackles on the wall, only a chair with armrests on either side. Brett was picking at his tie and was fully industurbable when the girl was brought in and chained to the new chair. Behind the couple was a very long table. Every knife they owned, every gun, every scalpel and other tools were placed on full display. Even a handsaw and needles. They would have fun with her. Gently smiling, Brett looked up when the brutish men left them. Toni stopped shouting like a mad woman as soon as they were left alone.

“Good evening Miss Wei. My name is Brett Yang and I thank you for checking into my humble abode. I hope you will enjoy your stay. We will make sure you do.”

The man turned around and looked at his option. He would go soft, so he took a gun with a silencer already on - they needed to take care of their hearing of course - and wheeled back to Toni. In an absolute calm and with a soft smile he placed the gun on her right knee. 

Before she could even beg, he fired the weapon. And now the screaming began. It was loud and aggravating, but stunningly enough Brett was not annoyed with it right away. Instead he wheeled back and placed the gun on the table and turned to Edward.

“Dear, do you want ear protection? I think we will need it here.”

The sound of her screaming was  _ music  _ to Edward’s ears; but he did agree that it was way too loud and shrill, considering how every single one of her screams echoed along the walls of the tiny room. He nodded, his eyes locked on her bleeding knee - the sight of blood dripping into the fabric of her denim jeans, staining the blue fabric a brilliant shade of red - was blissful to his eyes. His grin widened at it all: Brett’s calm demeanor, the way he spoke like they were just having coffee like any normal day, the screaming to accompany the voice… how oddly  _ beautiful _ it was to be in this situation. 

His hands were still folded in front of him - he was twitching to act, but he knew better, he was going to  _ do better _ \- as he turned to face Brett, the cries still ringing in his head. “You know, I wouldn’t mind that ear protection now. Might come in handy for later on, too.”

“Yes I was thinking the same thing. Could you be a doll for me and get them? They are outside. And please don't forget my book.”

Brett smiled at him and motioned to Edward that he should bent down, to which he obliged. Brett placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Go get the items, dear.”

He turned his wheelchair around and looked at the poor girl. Her makeup was smudged and the mascara was running down her cheeks. It was unsightly. He clicked his tongue. The more unsightly thing was her trousers. They would need to come off. He wanted to see the  _ blood _ .

So he grabbed a scalpel and wheeled close. He started slicing - without nicking her skin - and cutting through the jeans. When he was finished with one leg, he turned to the other. The girl had no choice but to accept it - Brett was still very skilled with the blade and he was finished in no time at all. He opened her button and pulled down the zipper so he could remove the annoying fabric.

He cut through the waistband too and pulled the jeans off of her with almost no resistance. Only her top was in the way, but he would wait for Edward to cut to them. Maybe the killer even wanted to do it himself?

Brett discarded the jeans next to the chair Toni was bound to, and wheeled back to set the scalpel in its place. That was the moment Edward came to the door again, holding the aforementioned items in his hands.

Cradled in his arms were Brett’s book - Eddy had never looked inside; why bother? - as well as two pairs of earplugs. He set them onto a table, before taking a pair and passing it over to Brett. Before turning his attention over to Toni - oh dear; was she still screaming and crying? - he put his own set of earplugs on and managed a brief smile: he could still hear her through them, but it was at a significantly enjoyable volume, one where he could truly relish each and every scream that escaped her lips. 

There was only one major wound that decorated her flesh - the bullet that Brett had sent through her leg - and Edward loved it in its entirety. It was the start of a masterpiece, a work of art that would be unrivaled by all else, and Edward would for once see Brett at work, slowly tearing her apart until she was nothing but a shattered mess. His eyes caught the dribble of blood now on bare skin, the streaks that travelled down to her foot, vibrant red against pale flesh-

And then a frown, as he picked up on the stark blue of the shirt, so  _ neon _ and  _ bright _ that it was disturbing the perfection that rested in scarlet. His hands twitched at the  _ need _ to remove it, the need to have this be perfect, but he needed to ask first. “Can I,” he cleared his throat, “get rid of the blue, dear?”

Brett looked up and put in the earplugs. They dampened all sounds, but he could still hear Edward. He took the book and nodded.

“Of course. Don’t injure her though. Be careful.” He motioned for Edward to choose from the  _ vast _ weaponry they had at their disposal. Brett would watch Edward with hawk eyes but Edward was so  _ pretty _ when he asked - or begged - him. Also, so far he did great. He was silent, did what he was told and was a joy to be around right now. Yes, he was a bit twitchy sometimes and the eyes glazed over, but so far he was perfect, like he should be. So Brett saw no problem in fulfilling him this small, tiny wish.

“I will.” Edward reached over for a slender knife, tossing it in his hand before sauntering closer to the chair. The fear was tangible - a swipe through the air and he could cut it right in two - and he took pride in watching her eyes trace his every footstep, his every move with the silver blade. He took pride in watching her eyes widen when the blade was brought closer to her skin, when she could feel the cold metal right against her arm. 

Edward was careful as the blade made its way through the shirt, cutting through the fabric as if it was nothing. He made sure his hands were steady, and that his full concentration was on getting rid of the shirt without the blade ever accidentally nicking her flesh. She fidgeted with every action of his, shifting back and forth until it grew difficult for him to try and control the blade: but he continued to work through it slowly in an attempt to rid the overly saturated blue that strained his eyes, and a need to prove to Brett that he was capable of following his every order. 

One final slash, and the shirt had come undone in Edward’s hands; he tossed it off to the side, right by the pants that were picking up pooling blood from the concrete, and returned to his rightful spot by Brett’s side. He was going to be patient; he was going to wait for commands before acting; he was going to let Brett do whatever he wanted with them  _ first _ . 

The retired hitman didn’t expect anything less from Edward. He was following the command beautifully. When he came back, Brett took the weapon from his hand and placed it on the table. He opened his book and started reading, the whimpers of the girl in the background and Edward’s humming next to him. He would take his time with her. He waited for the swelling to start around the gunshot wound - which would happen eventually - then he would poke in some more. The wound he inflicted was a clean shot; a product of Brett’s precision. The bullet was in the cement underneath her - he could see it. So all he had to do was wait. And he knew Edward was impatient, that he wanted to see the blood flow, hear her screams, bathe in the feeling of her terror and hear her useless begging and all the good stuff, but Brett was patient. He  _ needed  _ to be patient. 

Pain was a beautiful thing, a  _ wonderful _ thing. It did things to one’s mind things one would never have thought possible. But it needed time. Just pain on pain on pain was fun and all, but it was over so  _ quickly _ . And Brett didn’t want things to end quick. He wanted to see the horror of the reality that there was no way out of here to settle on her pale features; he wanted the beautiful moment of her  _ knowing _ why she was here and why this was happening. 

Her screams, her blood, her body was all fine and good, but Brett was after her  _ mind and soul _ . 

When those shattered, when she is fully and completely broken, never able to heal from it, then,  _ only then, _ will he be satisfied. She would be broken in more than just one, boring way. 

But that needed time. And that was a thing Edward would never be able to pull off. That was not up his alley and that was fine. He would leave the body to Edward while he took his time to destroy her psyche. A completed circle by the end of it. 

The pain, the  _ light _ in her eyes was still visible, and Brett would make sure that was extinguished before her body gave out on her. He turned slightly to Edward, motioning him down.

“Get yourself a chair if you want. We will be here for a while.”

His smile was brilliantly white,  _ so white _ , and his tone gentle. Gentle he would only ever be to Edward. Only he was allowed to see his gentle side, his loving side. After Brett came to terms with what happened to him, and when he told Eddy he loved him, he found a deeper sense of calm inside him. It was not like a frozen lake anymore, but a lake laying still on a warm summer day - no longer stuck in winter. All thanks to this man. This wonderful, beautiful man. As Brett reached deeper inside him, as he found Edward cradling his heart in his gentle hands, he knew it. He knew he would only die by his hands. No one else had that privilege. No one would ever get that honor. Only Edward would kill him, metaphorically and literally. And Brett would thank him for it. So it was only fitting he could do the same for Edward. And now, after the retraining and the deep relationship they shared, it was like that. 

Only Edward could kill Brett and only Brett could kill Edward. 

He lifted his hand and laid it on the face of his partner, gently stroking his cheeks. Brett smiled. He was so dumbly in love. It was like being young all over again: the first love, the first sex, his first time triggering a weapon, his first cut into flesh, his first crush, his first kill; all his firsts combined and concentrated in one feeling: The love he felt for this man. 

It was cathartic for him and his soul. Brett would never have thought it to be possible. To  _ feel _ so strongly. But here he was, feeling  _ it. _

And he knew, he knew with absolute certainty that Edward felt the same. 

He removed his hand gently and turned to his book again. They had time. This whole life and then the next as well, because he would find Edward in every timeline they would share. Edward was his, Eddy was  _ his _ . No one else had the right on him. Only him.  _ Only him _ . 

He licked his index finger and turned the page.

Edward nodded - with the traces of Brett’s touch still lingering on his cheeks, eyes still aglow with tender love and admiration, he stepped out for a second to grab himself a chair. The situation was made clear to him: Brett was going to take his time; he was going to take all the time in the world, and Edward was going to watch. Not that he minded - he would let Brett have his way with anything and everything, would always put Brett before his own wishes. Maybe Edward wasn’t the biggest fan of  _ extremely _ slow torture, but he would be patient.

He had waited for over a month; he could wait longer.

Edward dragged the chair back to the room, watching the stillness in the air settle with the tension. Brett was still waiting by the table, eyes lingering on the book; Toni was still on the chair, quivering more by the second. The hole in her knee was beautiful to see - it was so  _ red, _ so brilliantly red,framed by the blooming pink on the skin around the wood. He took his spot in the room, listening to her trembling breaths 

After a good twenty minutes and a couple of pages later, Brett looked up. Oh yes, the leg was swollen and pink, it was perfect. So he put away the book and laid it on the table. The girl started to shake, shake,  _ shake _ uncontrollably when he moved - even though visually he was the weaker of the two. Only clad in underwear, Brett had to admit that Toni was a nice, fit, slim girl. Nothing like Eddy of course, nothing he would prefer over him, but he could appreciate her subjective beauty. 

Calmly he took a scalpel and rolled back to her.

“Darling, darling, darling. You poor thing. You messed with the wrong people.” His face was soft and gentle, a warm smile on his lips whenever he looked at her. 

“I do wonder… What would you do to get out of here, hm? Would you spread your slender legs? Would you suck like your life depends on? Well, your life  _ depends _ on it but hey, you know what I mean.”

Instead of an answer, Toni only cried harder. Brett sighed and shook his head. Then he laid a hand on her wounded knee, plunging two fingers into the wound. She instantly screamed, trashed and howled. No surprises. Not only did it hurt like hell, but also now thanks to the swelling it was even worse. After ‘inspecting’ the wound he pulled out the fingers and wiped them with a clean cloth. Then he used the scalpel. Deep gashes were painted alongside the leg, careful not to go too deep to nick an artery, but deep enough that the flesh gaped open. After the four initial stripes, he rolled back, cleaning the scalpel before setting it aside on the table for a more thorough cleaning afterwards. 

He reached for a small white plastic container and grinned brightly. If she was any other person, he would use the opportunity to explain what he would do, but  _ that _ girl did not get the chance. Ignorance about what was to come was a very strong weapon and he would use that to his advantage. So, he wheeled back, opened the container and poured the liquid carefully over the bleeding wounds. It was acid. It burned and ate through her flesh, feasting on the sensitive part, causing her screams to go even higher. No amount of trashing, wiggling or anything she would do would sauce the chair to call over or give her any leeway. She was doomed. 

After he was finished pouring acid over her legs, watching it fizzing and bubbling and most importantly,  _ eating _ her flesh away, he rolled back. Her leg was useless. Maybe she could feel something lower, but that was debatable. Brett rolled beside Eddy, taking his hand after carefully wiping his own hands so as to not get anything on his partner.

“Isn’t it beautiful? And the best part? We have it on camera. We can rewatch if we want.”

He stroked the back of Eddy’s hand - because it was Eddy not Edward who was now with him.

The cries died down and Toni’s head hung low. She was unconscious now. Sadly that was it for today then. Brett sighed. No more time to play. And after only a few minutes of ‘playing’ with him.

“Maybe it is time for me to change and we go to eat, right, dear?”

He took the earplugs out of his ears. “We will come back tomorrow. And I promise you, you can start with her. But I want her alive for more days to come. So be a good boy.”

Eddy nodded: he took one last look at the leg - red, red, such a beautiful  _ red _ , with the bubbling and the swelling. His eyes flickered and glinted in the light, before returning his attention to Brett and breaking out into a wide grin; he pulled the earplugs out, the room now too quiet for his taste, and set them off to the side. He clasped Brett’s hand tighter, taking a deep breath.

“That’s a good idea.” He nodded, eyes catching the faint traces of blood under Brett’s fingernails; Eddy’s fingers were tapping against the wooden chair, already excited at what was to come.  _ Revenge _ was all that lingered in his mind, but he began to suppress the thought at the sound of Brett’s voice - gentle and sweet and calm, a  _ complete _ foil to the cold he held when speaking to Toni. “And I will. I’ll do my best; I’ll keep her alive and well for you, dear.”

He stood up, letting go of Brett’s hand to swing the door open - Eddy made a grand gesture (a little more than foolish, and yet he didn’t think much of it considering the giddiness in his head), and asked, “Shall we go, then?”

“Yes please.” Brett threw Toni one last look and wheeled out. After the door fell into their backs, Brett turned his head to Eddy. “I want her to have weeks of torture, Edward. I know you are  _ burning _ with wanting to kill her, but take your time. It will be far more rewarding to go to her three or four or five times a day, only spending half an hour, maybe an hour with her. Yes, you will need patience for that, but I promise you, in retrospect, you will have more out of it.”

Not to mention the killers who got a whiff of the story of what transpired in that basement would think twice or thrice about trying to touch Eddy. It would install fear in them. And maybe - hopefully - it would travel far and wide that Edward Chen was an absolute no-go to mark. Brett didn’t care much for his reputation, it would flow into Eddy’s as well. 

“If you are antsy or have the urge to just kill, we can get you some other poor sap to kill off, if you want. But I want you to  _ treasure _ her. She will be the only one who will ever try to touch you.”

Eddy nodded again, almost reminiscent of a hyperactive puppy. He shoved his hands into his pocket as they travelled back into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. “I’ll be fine,” he reassured. And while it was tempting to request other targets to calm himself down, Eddy wanted to ensure that his full attention was on  _ her _ , that he wasn’t thinking of other marks when in the basement. “I can be patient.”

Patience had never been Eddy’s greatest virtue - he exhibited some of it when slicing his marks apart, but that was a  _ different _ type of patience, one where the seconds ticking by didn’t feel like hours because of the screams and whimpers that served as entertainment; one where Eddy was able to kill the mark the second his hands grazed their skin. He was a killer, first and foremost, and to keep somebody  _ alive _ \- even if they were being slowly tortured to the brink of insanity - felt as if it would be going against his every instinct. 

But he believed he could do it; he had confidence in Brett’s plan; he would put himself behind Brett’s wishes and fulfill them all.

“I know you can as I know that you will be patient. And we don’t have to wait weeks for it,” even though Brett would prefer it, “But only up to a certain point. She is a weak willed person it seems, so she will break easily.”

They went up to the apartment where Brett showered and changed with Eddy’s help. Afterwhich, they headed to the restaurant. He had a scarf around his neck and was bundled up in a thick coat and a thick blanket over his legs, because they were almost always cold nowadays.

Brett was pushed by Eddy as they strolled in the colder autumn night.

“How long do you want to do this Eddy? I mean the job. Will you ever stop or do you have plans for the future?”

They now had the rare opportunity to talk not only about these things, but also to dream about it. They had money and influence, and their biggest competitors were all under them now. Brett was  _ so very close _ to accomplishing 100%. He was stuck with 99% now. It was good, but not good  _ enough _ . 

Although even the newcomers not under his wing would come to him in the end. It was only a matter of time before it would happen. After three years he had almost done it. That was far faster then he anticipated, so he was quite happy about it. But what about Eddy? Would he ever stop killing? He wouldn’t hold it against him if he chose to, because if he had the opportunity, he would do it as well. But where did Eddy see himself? Maybe in five years, maybe in ten? 

Eddy furrowed his brows as they stopped at a traffic light. He didn’t think often about the future; his mind was always stuck in the present, thinking about the assignments and marks that he had to deal with at the moment. The red light reflecting in his eyes, he paused for a moment to ponder on the question and collect his words.

What  _ did  _ Eddy want? Because at the end of the day, he viewed Brett as the mastermind who managed to establish a  _ monopoly _ in the killing industry; who took his own circumstances and turned it into something that was beyond anyone’s imagination; and he viewed himself as just another one of the killers there, a tiny pawn in the overall game. For short, there didn’t seem to be anything for Eddy but to keep killing, to keep working because there was nothing he could fall back on: he was restless, but didn’t have the talent to pull off such a grand scheme, and for people like him, the only option was to keep going until death finally caught up.

But he also had Brett, didn’t he? Retire after years and step back to help with some of the management; continue to work and feel as if he was accomplishing  _ something _ with his love right next to him; wake up to red sheets, head downstairs together for coffee, and slide the warm mug across the table to Brett. Eddy was simple: elaborate dreams weren’t fitting for him. The only one that he had was already finished and accomplished ages ago - he wanted to carve a reputation out for himself in the field, grow to be one of the most brutal.

And so, he sighed as the light flickered green, as he pushed Brett across the crosswalk. “I haven’t thought about it, but I guess I’ll keep going.” A brief pause, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes. “I’ll work until my body is rusted, and it’s no longer  _ wise _ to keep killing - which, in that case, I’d like to be with you until the end.”

“Will it satisfy you? Or do you want to go out with a boom? An assignment where you can go out like the legend you will become? I can understand that, Eddy. It will not make me happy if you choose it, but I will understand. It was my dream as well when I was active.”

He wouldn’t say it again that if Eddy was killed, he would follow. What did he have when Eddy was gone? Not much. Yes, the work, yes maybe he found someone else, but for now Eddy was the only thing that held him alive. The moment he would hear of Eddy’s death he would put everything in order and then go out. He would be with Eddy for all eternity then. No one, not even death would separate them. 

“I would appreciate your help, growing old together sounds so  _ weird _ . Right? Five years ago I would have thought my life would end with a bullet in my body, then it turned. But I am happy now.

With you. With us. With the agency. I want it to stay that way, you know.”

Was he getting sappy? Yes, totally. An utter and complete mush, but he was fine with it. 

Brett stopped the wheelchair gently and turned to Eddy.

“I love you.”

Eddy swallowed. Maybe a part of him still craved it - the legends he had heard growing up all went down in hunts for other killers. But things had changed, and Eddy didn’t want to think about what would happen if he decided to pursue that route in the future; his life was Brett’s, Brett’s life was his, and it had dawned on him that any action he decided to take would have an effect on both of their lives - that if Eddy had pursued the selfish route and opted to be killed in a mission, Brett would be dragged down along with him.

Eddy didn’t want to just be with Brett: he wanted to be  _ alive _ with him.

“Once.” His voice was low, nothing but a mere whisper on the verge of being carried away by the wind. “Not anymore. I’ll be satisfied as long as you are there with me. I don’t need to worry about reputation or going out how I initially envisioned; I’d be happy with us together.”

A tiny smile was on his face as he leaned down to press a kiss against Brett’s lips. He murmured a gentle “I love you too” under his breath, quiet enough that nobody else would hear it; quiet enough that the words felt as if they were destined to only be exchanged between them and nobody else, before continuing to make their way into the restaurant.

Brett smiled and was quite content. Yes, the future was theirs to grab. And now he had no reason to have nightmares about Eddy running off to get himself willingly killed. He would stop before and that was enough for Brett.

  
  
  


A week passed. A whole week of torture, broken limbs, cut off limbs, burnt skin, slashed and cauterized wounds, pulling teeth from that disgusting whore’s mouth, chopping off her fingers and toes one by one.

Her leg Brett gave his initial attention to was already cut off, and the stump was burned so that the girl would not bleed to death like a pig. Her screams were getting on Brett nerves by now and she fainted more and more quickly. Her spirit was broken as well - no surprises here - after only four days of torture. They fed her water but no food - she would puke it out anyway. The water was kept in, but only barely. Also food was not necessary anymore. 

Brett got more and more notifications from other hitmen; that they have heard about the Wei-girl and what was happening to her, swearing they would not do anything to the couple. But what was most important were the messages he got from overseas. Yes, that was what he was waiting for. 

The message was loud and clear now and the girl had fulfilled her purpose. He let Eddy have fun with her too. He showed an incredible amount of focus as well as diligence, restraint and self-discipline. Brett was very, very pleased with him.

They were coming from lunch - having visited Wei only a mere hour before - when Brett reached the final conclusion: The Wei girl was superfluous at this point. He would let Edward have his way with her.

So when they were back at the cafe and on their way to the basement, he halted Eddy, his soft, pure, good boy  _ Eddy _ , and looked up at him.

“She is fully yours now. Do what you want. I will give you free reign. I am very,  _ very pleased _ with your progress and the discipline you showed me again and again this week. You can decide if I can be with you in the room when you finish her - if you finish her - or not.

The decision is yours, Edward.”

His eyes gleamed at the news - genuinely? Eddy didn’t trust himself to move at this point: he had expected weeks of holding back and hands tapping away at the chair, of waiting for his time to ravage her with the knives that seemed to be calling to him. He grinned, the ruthless smile spreading across his face, as he dug his nails into his own arm just to double check that this was reality. 

Oh, this  _ was _ indeed, and Edward was more than ready for it. The past few days have been exciting - even on the days that he had just been a spectator; it had been an honor to hear every single one of her dying whimpers and screams, even more so to dig knives between her joints and to be  _ praised _ for it by Brett. But now the thrill and the adrenaline was truly starting to kick in at the prospect of Edward having  _ full control _ over what was to be done next. 

She was not going to live tomorrow. That was a given. 

“Thank you, dear.” He hummed, delight settling in his gut as he began to consider his plan again - where to put his blade, where to cut this time around. “Can you stay and watch? I’d love it if you did.”

“Of course I will. Anything for you. Also, I want to see how you will end her. I anticipate it since we got her in the basement. So yes, it will be an honor to watch you.” Brett tugged on Edward’s hand to kiss him on the cheek. They got the clearance from the doctor yesterday that Eddy could now go all out. It was simply perfect timing. 

“After that I want you on my bed, in my lap, showing me how  _ grateful _ you are for that. And no holding back,” he whispered. Yes, Brett was needy for Eddy’s body. It was such a long time ago since they were connected like that. Eddy was very enthusiastic about servicing him with his mouth, but he wanted to feel Eddy completely. All around him. Hugging him, feeling his moves, hearing  _ his _ moans. Not only his own. And what better time could they choose than directly after a kill? That way Edward could burn through the adrenalin and all the pent up stuff, and Brett would remind him who was in charge - not that Edward ever forgot that. 

So they shared another sweet kiss before the grand finale.

Edward’s eyes clouded over at the thought; he didn’t bother to address it, but the flush that was on his cheeks should have conveyed more than enough. Taking a second to regain the sharpness in his eyes, he spun around on his heels and pushed open the door with such force that the handle slammed against the wall and jolted Toni awake. There was a haunted look in her eyes, a dull gaze that was somehow laced with alarm and - still - overwhelming fear as Brett and Edward swept in. 

_ Satisfaction _ . Edward had felt this every single time he heard a scream ripped out from her throat, cries that were so guttural that a shiver rolled down his spine with each one - and he felt it now, with how her eyes were glued to them both, refusing to ever divert away in fear of what was to come next. 

“Good afternoon, dear!” His voice was  _ lively _ ; it was light and, had they been in a different situation, a pleasure to listen to with how joyful it was. Brett was enjoying it for sure. He loved it when his partner was happy. Edward was simply unable to contain his own excitement at this point: his hands continued to tremble at the prospect, and there was a certain maniacal look testing on his face: a look that craved to see fresh scarlet pouring from wounds made by  _ him _ . “Let’s get ready for another round, shall we?”

Edward loved knives: it was his favorite weapon to use, so compact and hidden underneath his palm, so easy to just  _ swipe _ and watch as blood spurted out from the wound that he had drawn on them. But - he glanced at the vast array of weaponry that awaited him, weapons that he’d normally never  _ consider  _ using for normal missions - considering that he had been pushed to experiment with patience and discipline for too many days, he was more than ready to keep seeing what he could try. 

A slender hand moved to pick up the nearby blowtorch: it was helpful for cauterizing any odd incisions that had been made, but Edward hadn’t experienced the scent of burning flesh and bone that came with burning a corpse for  _ too _ long. He took a short breath, trying to recall it in his head - white noise burrowing deeper into his mind until he could hear nothing but the faint crackle of fire and his own heartbeat, and ash clinging to every last inch of his being-

He flicked it on, and immediately, the room was greeted by the brilliant flame, a blue that oddly put Edward more at rest than her shirt from the days prior. His face glowed from the light, sharpening his smile, highlighting the lack of remorse that he held for playing a part in any of this - because there was nothing telling him to pull back the second he pressed the blowtorch to what was left of her hand and arm; there was nothing but comfort that settled in his gut at the sound of hoarse shrieking and desperate gasps for fresh air. He moved slowly, inch by inch, up her arm, the blue cone flickering into a warm orange once it burned her skin, leaving behind a long trail of charred skin. 

Edward paused - he pulled the blowtorch off to give her a moment to  _ breathe _ , to smell what her own burning flesh was like. Pleasant. Delightful, maybe, but the blaring music in his head had grown to be so loud that he knew he wouldn’t be able to hear whatever blubbering answer escaped her lips. His eyes felt as if it had been washed with a faded red; it threatened to creep in at the corner of his vision and to flood his entire view with a deep, saturated red. They had established why she was here days ago: they had drilled her into confessing that she wanted Edward dead because she  _ craved _ revenge; she wanted him to be torn in two for what he had done to her brother. 

No sympathy was spared, none at all. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes - target one of the best killers in the world, the partner of the most influential handler in the known universe, and expect to be reduced to mere dust and rubble in days. Edward glanced up at her face, covered in swollen cuts and bruises from the previous days, and hummed once again: she looked  _ pitiful _ . There was no other way to describe the despair and hopelessness in her eyes as Edward moved to keep searing her skin away, face gleaming with delight at the blisters, the redness, the pure  _ agony _ that he could hear through the symphony. The blowtorch travelled up at a steady rhythm, blue scratching right past her shoulder and onto her collarbones, fire flickering until Edward decided to step back again - something he had learned terrified her  _ more _ than continuing the pain, something that he would keep as one of his lessons from Brett. 

He took this time to reach for one of the smaller knives and dig through the blisters; there had always been something off-putting about them, how oddly they puffed up the skin and bloomed with such perfection. There was no reaction to her flinches and cries - Edward continued as if he didn’t see or hear a thing.

Edward hummed at the sight of her blinking eyes - she was still awake, an impressive feat, and he had resolved to keep going until her own body had truly given up on her. So he kept going: he kept listening to the gentle hiss of the torch, the nonsensical pleas that came in the form of inhuman sounds, the hum of music that escaped from his own lips; there was nothing else he could see but the fire and the blackened pieces of her skin as he continued to burn, down into the muscle and bone this time around. 

He watched as she continued to squirm under the restraints - less so because it was a conscious move; while she had lost the hope in her eyes already, her body was still too stubborn to give up. Edward felt  _ fulfilled _ by this, he felt delight spread all throughout his limbs as he watched her head lull and droop down to her chest, strands of cut up and charred hair brushing over her face. 

His foot tapped against the concrete in perfect timing with the music that continued to play in his mind; he flicked off the blowtorch and stepped back for a moment, taking in the blackened skin and the patches of white and yellow that surrounded it; he grinned at the sight of the dark red that was scattered around the wound, at the occasional sight of pearly bone peeking out from underneath the skin. He waited, crossing his arms and taking more breaths of the burnt air to quell his racing heart; he wanted her  _ awake _ for the finale, for one last question that Edward wanted answers too. Time clicked by slowly as Edward’s attention remained on her nearly unrecognizable body; show her to anyone at this moment, and everyone would say that she was better off dead. He wasn’t sure how much time passed - how much time he stared at the wounds that he inflicted, how much time he spent nearly forgetting that Brett was watching him from the corner - until she woke up with a shudder, half-dazed until her eyes landed on Edward. 

Instinctive reactions were always such a pleasure to see: the panic, the terror, the worry all flooding into her expression once she recognized the men in front of her, clad in all black - something about that was entertaining for Edward, was absolutely  _ blissful  _ to him. He sauntered behind the chair, resting his head on the metal back and watching her attempt to tilt her head back to see what he was going to do. There was no need for her to do so; he took the wire in his hands and draped it right over her neck, refusing to apply any pressure just yet. 

“Tell me, dear,” he hummed, “do you regret it?”

There was no need to specify what exactly he meant by  _ it _ \- the sudden shift in her seat, the immediate nod, and the slight reminder of the past flares in his back was enough. Each and every single one of her nods was certain, without hesitation, and Edward wasn’t sure what he found more frustrating: that someone who had been searching for him for  _ years  _ would give up so easily, or the thought that she only regretted it because she had been unsuccessful. 

Either way, the end was to come. He began to pull on the wire, applying more pressure by the second; the ends were wrapped tightly around his hands as he continued to pull. He could feel her attempt to struggle back against him, see the shifts and fidgets as her body demanded that she  _ lived _ \- he only smiled as he watched her actions grow sluggish and, ultimately, her limbs went completely limp against the chair, bringing with it complete relief and satisfaction. 

Edward let out a long breath as he tossed the wire over to the side; he glanced over at the chair, at the corpse with fear forever engraved in her glassy eyes, before turning to face Brett with a glow in his cheeks. 

“Well,” his eyes gleamed, “that’s it, isn’t it?”

Brett had been sitting silently in the best place in the basement: first row. Yes, his Edward was beautiful. The torture he inflicted was beautiful. It let him to smile at him, a serene, calm smile, even though his blood was raging in his veins.

“That was  _ perfect.  _ Thank you for that, my dear. I enjoyed it very, very much. I will never forget how you did it. It will be forever burned in my memory.”

He rolled closer and looked up at his partner, finally answering his not-question.

“That was it, yes. She is dead. No one will ever come after you again. At least from her side. And the rest will think thrice about doing so.”

Brett held up his hand and gently took Edward’s in his.

“Are you completely finished with her? Do you want anything to do with her before the man hacks her up and throws her to the pigs?  _ Anything _ ? Because this will be the last opportunity to do so, Edward.”

Edward glanced back, hesitating for a moment; her body was still dangling from the chair, still warm and fresh. 

“Maybe just one more thing.” He reached over the table again, taking one of the smaller, more slender knives of the array. “One last stab and I’ll call it the end.”

So he made it - pushed her body gently forward, holding her in place by cusping her chin with his hand; he brushed her hair away from the back with the knife in order to get a better view. Speaking more so to himself than anything, he dragged the tip of the blade across her bare back to find his target: “Five centimeters from the heart… to the right…”

There was no hesitation, no chance for Edward to take a deep breath before he slid the knife directly into her limp body - it was a long enough blade to go right through the other end, leaving droplets of blood spilling over her scarred thighs. He took a few moments to relish the sight - blood against the concrete, scarlet and brown mixing together on the chair - before drawing the knife out and wiping it with a nearby cloth, before taking his rightful spot next to Brett. 

“All good now.”

It was really a sight to behold. But Brett wanted to do something as well. He took a small knife and wheeled to Toni - or what was left of her - and cut a lock of her hair. Carefully he tied it into a knot and pocketed it. Her glassy eyes were still disgusting for him. Preferably he would remove or smash them, but now he had no reason to do so. If she was alive, that would be fun, but now? Not needed. So he rolled back and threw the knife on the table.

“Let’s go, dear. You really need a shower.  _ Her _ smell clings to you. On us both. And I want her  _ gone _ from our lives.” He waited for Eddy to push him out of the room, and of course Eddy - yes, his soft, cute Eddy - obliged his silent order. They made their way up, both were silent. Eddy needed it to relish the kill a bit longer and for Brett because he didn’t want to interrupt Eddy’s thought process.

Even in the shower they were silent, which was a bit unusual but Brett would give Eddy all the time he needed to come out of his thoughts.

They were both sitting on the bed, Brett holding Eddy’s hand and tracing gentle caresses on his fingers, the back of his hand, the wrists and the forearm. Only when the humming stopped, Brett knew Eddy was back, finally. Gentle kisses were placed on the fingers, the perfectly trained, skillful fingers. 

“You are back with me, Eddy?”, he murmured, looking up in the face of his lover.

_ It was over _ . The daze had still stuck with him, slowly wearing off as he processed the relief, the realization that things could start returning to normal; the realization that he could truly start considering a life of calm with Brett now that their influence in the field had been established internationally. He glanced over at Brett, smiling gently once he felt the kisses on his hand. 

“Yeah.” Their eyes met; Eddy took this time to press a kiss against Brett’s lips. “I’m fine now. Thank you, Brett.”

Did he feel as if he had said enough, showed enough of his gratitude? Absolutely not; he couldn’t explain how much he loved Brett in mere words and appreciated everything that he had done. His hand still in Brett’s, he shut his eyes for a brief moment, taking in the bliss of the situation before leaning over to give Brett yet another kiss. The kiss was sweet and tender, not something you would expect after the hours of brutality that he witnessed. But Brett knew Eddy, he knew why he did it, knew the  _ reason _ and he smiled against his lips.

“Good, good.”

He slung his arms around Eddy’s neck, pulling the man towards him.

“Now show me your gratitude, _ my soft little kitten _ .”

The next kiss was far less innocent, and the flurry of action afterwards was all too known and dearly missed by the both of them.

  
  


The door chime rang its beautiful song as another patron came into the café. He went to the counter and asked for a coffee and a slice of strawberry shortcake before he settled down next to his friend in one of the booths. 

He was fairly new and didn’t know much, only that the café was somewhat special,  _ unique _ in its complexity and in their world. His friend smiled at him and nodded.

They had a low, friendly conversation until it came to one name. The café fell silent and his friend shook his head, face white.

“No, Hyung, no. ‘Brett Yang’ is off limits. He is the big brain behind all this. And ‘Edward Chen’ is his partner. Have you not  _ heard _ what they did to the assassin who was sent to them? To the  _ Wei-girl _ ? No buddy, simply no. Those two are untouchable. No one goes against them.”

The man ducked his head and nodded frantically, noticing the dead silence in the café. 

“Sure, sure, I understand. Someone was talking about them. I just wanted to confirm, Ray. No harm done. No mark, no questions, no offence.” The man's hand trembled as he took a sip from his coffee.

Ray shook his head, “It’s fine, but if you want to be alive tomorrow, then you should never put ‘mark ‘on’ ’Eddy Chen’ or ’Brett Yang’ in one sentence together. We are all contracted by him. And Chen is his  _ partner _ . No one touches them.”

The older one took a sip as well.

“Enjoy your cake, but,” Ray set the mug down on the table with a clang, “never forget who are on top of this game.”

The boy nodded and fell silent. One second later, the silence was broken and everyone resumed what they were doing before Hyung uttered  _ those _ words. What a scary pair, he thought.

  
  
  


The End :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, there you have it. The end of Red Carnation.  
> I speak for the both os us when I say, we had fun. A lot of fun. It was a project done in 15 days and we are proud.  
> From the beginning tot he end was like almost everything likle we wanted it and I think Vilo and me learned quite a few things.  
> Not to mention, Vilo was splendid in the NSFW-scenes. Praise her for that. She is amazing. I love you babyboo :D
> 
> Anyway, keep your eyes peeled for more collabs (yes, even with vilo) and we hope you check out the both of us :D
> 
> If you liked it, please leave a comment and kudo, thank you :D

**Author's Note:**

> As always: Please leave a KUDO & COMMENT if you liked it.  
> You will help me to publish more stories that way :3


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